Serpens Arcanem
by Evandar
Summary: Sequel to Serpens Armarem! The Dark Lord has risen, and Harry soon finds out that his absence from Hogwarts doesn't excuse him from the coming war, while back at school Neville realises that not all evil takes the form of Death Eaters. AU, slash
1. Unwelcome Visitors

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ and I am making no money from the distribution of this story.

**AN:** Welcome to 'Serpens Arcanem'! Before you start, this is the sequel to another one of my stories: 'Serpens Armarum', so if you haven't read that already then please do so before starting on this.

This chapter has been a long time coming. First I had to figure out what I wanted to happen, then I had to figure out how to make it happen, and then I had to write the bloody thing, which was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Not to mention I had exams, coursework and - of course - a bizarre attempt at navigating my way around the visa application process (I'm moving to America for my second year of university. Lucky me!) to deal with. So yeah, this was delayed longer than I expected. I can only hope that it's worth the wait.

Just a few more things before I let you get on with reading (though no doubt most people will skip this). Mava-chan has posted the first two chapters of her French translation of 'Serpens Armarum', so any French speakers/readers among you please feel free to check that out and give her your support; and Hiekomi has posted a fabulous portrait of Linael on her DevArt. Links to both of these can be found on my profile. Also, this story contains slash - aka a male/male relationship - that pairs Harry with an OC (though I'm trying my hardest not to make it Gary-Stu-ish and to focus on the action of the story) so if you don't think you can handle it then turn away now.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the first enstallment of 'Serpens Arcanem'.

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter One

Unwelcome Visitors

"Hey, you do remember that this place is meant to close at five, don't you?"

Harry yelped, and shot upright in his chair so fast he almost fell off it. He immediately closed his second and third eyelids before turning to face the speaker, cutting off the killing power of his eyes. The speaker was Seraphina: a young witch who refused to give her last name, and who had arrived at the Hostel the previous September. She was pretty, and she was the only witch Harry had ever met who wore her hair short. She grinned at him as she leaned against the doorway that led through from the shop into Last Hope Hostel; Harry's home for the past two years.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" Harry told her, knowing that she would ignore him even as he turned away to mark his place in the book he had been engrossed in. "What time is it anyway?"

"Quarter to six," she told him. "Good book?"

"Sort of," Harry said. "Difficult, more like." He stood and stretched, and headed towards the door to lock up. The sun still shone through the window, though it was beginning to set, and its light shone gold off the cobbled street of Knockturn Alley. "Aren't you meant to be heading out to work soon?"

He didn't know, exactly, what she did for a living, but he did know that whatever it was tasted musky on his tongue if he came across her before she showered.

She gave a low hum of agreement. "I am," she said. "But there are visitors who want to speak to you, and it's taking a combination of both Tiberius and Aurora to stop them from bursting in here and stealing you away, so I got volunteered by default since the others are all still asleep."

Harry finished setting the locking wards, and turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "There are people here wanting to talk to me?" he asked. "Who?"

"Wizards," she told him.

Harry groaned.

He could only imagine what it would be about. Earlier that summer, before the last Hogwarts term had finished, he had felt a terrible burning pain in his scar. The next morning, it had been front page news that Hogwarts' Triwizard Champion, Cedric Diggory, had been murdered – kidnapped by Portkey, forced to participate in some sort of ritual, and then killed before having his body sent back to Hogwarts by the same Portkey that had taken him away. Judging by the burning pain Harry had felt in his scar, he had a sneaky feeling just who had been behind the death.

Apparently he wasn't the only one. If there were people wanting to talk to him, and if Tiberius and Aurora were holding them off, then either Dumbledore or the Ministry had figured it out as well and they wanted the Boy-Who-Lived to step back into the spotlight as some sort of figurehead.

Damn.

Harry sighed softly. He should have known that the peace he had had ever since dropping out of Hogwarts wouldn't have lasted forever.

"Right," he said. "Thanks for the warning."

"No problem, short stuff," she said. She turned and sauntered back into the Hostel, her hips swaying as she walked. Harry snorted and shook his head, picking up his book as he walked back past the desk.

"_Nox_," he muttered, and the shop went dark behind him. He closed the door.

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he walked down the corridor to the living room. He hated that the sanctuary of the Hostel was being disturbed just because of him. Tiberius and Aurora didn't deserve the crap that came with housing the famed Boy-Who-Lived, and none of the other residents deserved the hassle either. He wasn't sure what would happen, exactly, if the Ministry found out that he was sharing the roof over his head with two Vampires, a Drow and a…whatever is was that Seraphina did – since Harry wasn't entirely sure that it was legal. All he knew was that it wouldn't be pretty, and if it did happen then…

"It wouldn't be my fault," he muttered to himself. "It would be theirs for believing in the all-powerful scar." He snorted derisively.

He could remember feeling so awed by the Wizarding world; amazed that such a wonderful place existed; astounded that everyone within it knew his name. Time and a healthy dose of reality had cured him of that. Wizards and witches were just people. A highly prejudiced minority group that overused magic and underused common sense. Harry was famous, true, and his scar was legendary, but the only people who were really in a position to comment on the whole thing were Harry – who couldn't remember – and Voldemort – who was supposed to be dead, though wasn't really, and who wouldn't want to comment on the single most embarrassing moment in his Dark Lord career in the first place.

But even so, everyone presumed to know everything about it. Right down to the position of Harry's crib and the curses used. It was tiresome. More than tiresome, in fact. Harry knew for a fact now that Voldemort was back – really, his scar hurting that badly _couldn't_ have meant anything else – people would be looking to Harry Potter and his Magic Scar of Joy to rescue them once again.

The only question was if he wanted to do it or not.

He stopped in front of the living room door and rested his hand on the doorknob. His heat-sensitive vision registered several warm-blooded beings in the room. He knew that two of them were Tiberius and Aurora, and that meant that there were ten wizards waiting to see him. Judging from their positions, they were all standing; judging from the angry sounds he could hear filtering through the walls, they were not happy at being kept waiting.

But they weren't waiting for him; for the boy who'd once insisted that he was "just Harry" or for the boy who'd become a Lamia. They were waiting for Harry Potter, and that was a different person entirely. He took a long, deep breath and pushed the door open.

The voices quieted immediately. The first people he saw were Tiberius and Aurora. The old couple were looking grim, and they were glowering at their guests. When Harry's tongue flickered out, he could taste the anger radiating from them – a bitter tang that reminded Harry slightly of blood – and he could feel the apprehension of the gathered wizards. He looked around the room, wishing that the people gathered there weren't staring at him.

Dumbledore was there, with Snape, McGonagall, Lupin, Sirius and Arthur Weasley. They were the only ones that Harry recognised. The others consisted of a tall, bald black wizard; an older wizard – about the same age as Tiberius – with a grizzled appearance and an odd, magical eye that moved independently to his natural one; a young witch with a heart shaped face and shocking pink hair; and a middle aged witch with pale skin and long black hair that tumbled down her back in loose curls. Harry looked over them all again, studying their expressions. The ones he had never met before – for the most part – looked faintly awestruck at the sight of him. They had all glanced at his forehead in search of his scar. The old man with the magical eye looked curious, but he kept his focus on Tiberius.

His old teachers looked a lot older than what Harry remembered, especially Dumbledore. His loss of the Boy-Who-Lived had hit his reputation hard, and from what Harry had heard, he'd been having a tough time with politics ever since. McGonagall looked at him disapprovingly over the rims of her square spectacles – Harry could see that his dropping out of Hogwarts hadn't gone down too well with her – while Snape stared at him with a perfectly blank expression instead of the hateful sneer that Harry remembered so clearly. Harry let his gaze skim over the presence of Arthur Weasley. He hadn't seen any of the Weasleys since he'd left Hogwarts, and it was a testament to how much their betrayal of him had hurt that Harry still couldn't quite bring himself to look at the older man. Lupin and Sirius – both of whom Harry had kept in contact with – smiled at him happily, and Harry smiled back briefly before turning his attention to the most dangerous wizard in the room.

"Seraphina told me these people wanted to talk to me, Tiberius," he said quietly.

Tiberius nodded. "So they say," he said. He sounded neutral, as though he was straining to keep his temper under check. Harry could imagine why. Dumbledore in particular had no friend in Tiberius at all.

"Alright then," Harry said. He shrugged, faking nonchalance. "Shall we sit down?"

The assembled wizards took seats in the myriad of chairs that occupied the living room. Harry sat too, careful to stay close to Tiberius and Aurora, who he knew would have his back no matter what happened. Then he waited.

It didn't take long.

"Harry my boy," Dumbledore started. "You're looking well."

"I am well, headmaster," Harry replied politely. "But I don't think that this is a social call. If you'll excuse me, would you mind getting to the point?"

Dumbledore's cronies shifted uncomfortably at his disrespect of the man that they held so highly. Harry ignored them, for the most part.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, "of course." Then he glanced briefly towards the other hostel residents; Tiberius in particular. "I would prefer it, Harry, if we could talk alone."

Harry blinked. "In that case, why did you bring so many people with you?" he asked. Dumbledore's supporters shifted uncomfortably again, sharing looks.

"Harry," Sirius said, "they insisted on coming. We wanted to see you again, kiddo, and whether you like it or not, your name does mean a lot to some people."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "But all the same. If you're allowed people to sit in on this, then I am too, headmaster. After all, it's only fair."

Dumbledore frowned, but it was the grizzled man with the magical eye who spoke. "Taking advice from a Dark Wizard, Potter?" Both of his eyes were fixed on Tiberius.

Tiberius opened his mouth to reply, but Harry cut in, shooting the older man an apologetic look for interrupting. "Well, sir, you've got a Black on your side," he said. "And the Blacks were a Darker family than the Woodrifts."

The old man didn't look happy in the slightest, but Sirius grinned; apparently not minding his family name and its connotations being brought up to prove Harry's point.

"He's got you there, Alastor," Lupin said.

"Now, I'm not going to ask you who all these people are and what their purposes her are, headmaster, because I don't think it's necessary," Harry said. "But I would appreciate it if you could just get to the point and stop stalling."

Dumbledore at him gravely over the frames of his half-moon spectacles and cleared his throat. "Very well, Harry," he said. "If that is what you want. I came here to ask for your help, my boy, and for you to return to Hogwarts."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Lord Voldemort has returned, Harry," Dumbledore told him. Harry released a short sigh; his suspicions had been correct after all. "Now that he has returned, you will be one of his first targets, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "At Hogwarts you will be safe, and you will be taught things that will help you survive him when he comes looking for you."

"I was never safe at Hogwarts, headmaster," Harry said. "At least, I didn't feel that I was. After Quirrel, after Lockhart, after the Basilisk, after the Dementors, and after Cedric Diggory was kidnapped right off Hogwarts grounds…do you really think that I would feel safe there now?

"And as for my lessons, I'm already doing fine. I'm ahead of my year group in most subjects, so going to Hogwarts would just be a waste of my time. I wouldn't learn anything that I can't learn from my home study courses or through reading. In fact, I've learned more since I left Hogwarts than I ever did inside of its walls."

"Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "You are not safe here. Lord Voldemort will find you, and the people that you live with are no match for him or his Death Eaters."

Harry knew that. He knew that Tiberius and Aurora and Linael and Nikolai and Isabella and Seraphina were all strong in their own right, but he knew that if Voldemort showed up with his followers that they would probably die. Even he would probably be badly hurt at the very least, and he had the natural defences of a Basilisk.

But at the same time… "So you want to turn a school full of children into an even bigger target?" Harry asked. "You want to put the lives of all of your students at risk just to get me in the castle again?" He laughed softly and shook his head. "No."

"Mr Potter," McGonagall started.

"Professor, listen to me for a moment," Harry told her. "I know that Voldemort will want me dead. I know that I'll probably have to fight him and I know that I – and everyone around me – might die. But the people around me now are fully trained. Hogwarts is filled with untrained students who would have to be defended at the cost of the staff and the older students. There are no untrained children here to defend. I'm the youngest, and I'm due to sit my Defence NEWT this January, if things all go to plan. I'll be safer here, where I don't have to worry about any eleven-year-olds stumbling across the fight and trying to be useful but getting in the way, than I would be at Hogwarts."

"Hate to say it, but the boy's got a point," the odd-eyed man said, his blue eye rotating as he spoke to fix harry with a piercing look. "There're less distractions here, Dumbledore, and the wards are just as good – if not better – than those at Hogwarts: there's less people to protect. And you said yourself that if you hadn't already known where the boy was staying that you wouldn't have found him here." The magical eye turned back to Tiberius. "Some of the wards are suppressing magical signatures. Very paranoid of you Tiberius."

"Constant vigilance, Alastor," Tiberius murmured.

The old man nodded; his scar-ruined lips quirking into the briefest, most frightening smile Harry had ever laid eyes on. He shuddered as he realised that the old man was dangerous, and that he should try his hardest not to get himself onto his bad side. He wondered how Tiberius knew him. Certainly, the pink haired witch was looking between the two men with something akin to horror on her face.

"Is there nothing I can do to make you trust me Harry?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry cringed inwardly at the sad tone of the man's voice. Dumbledore was laying it on thick…

"Nothing, headmaster," Harry told him firmly. "You have done nothing to earn my trust, and everything to lose it."

"And now that that's decided," Tiberius said, standing up from his chair. "Would you mind leaving us in peace?"

The gathered wizards, including Dumbledore, stood and began to file out of the room, Tiberius leading them through the hostel to the door. Dumbledore, however, turned in the doorway to look back at Harry.

"War is coming, Harry, and you will be asked to fight," he said. "Lord Voldemort will not allow you to sit on the sidelines. He will hunt you, he will find you, and as you are, he will kill you."

"As I am?" Harry asked. "I've faced him before, headmaster, and believe me when I say that I have not spent these years idly."

"I'm sure you have not, Harry, but I do believe that you have spent them unwisely." Dumbledore's gaze flickered briefly towards Tiberius. "Be careful what you choose, Harry. My offer still stands. You are welcome at Hogwarts at any time."

"Goodbye headmaster," Harry replied.

Dumbledore left, closing the door behind him. Aurora gave a little huff. "How melodramatic," she said. "He's out to use you, that one. You'll be careful, won't you Harry?"

"When am I not?" Harry asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The others didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, Tiberius spoke up. "He's right though, Harry," he said. "You are in danger. You're going to need as many allies as you can get for this. You shouldn't alienate Dumbledore entirely. He could be useful."

Harry sighed. "I know," he said. "And I will give him a chance. I will. But…I'll only do it when he stops treating me like a cross between a child and a chess piece."

"Not anytime soon then," Aurora murmured. She stepped up to Harry and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. He leaned into the gentle touch and closed his eyes.

"I will fight Voldemort," he said quietly. "Between him and Dumbledore and the rest of the world, I don't really have a choice in the matter. I just want to do it on my own terms. Is that…okay?"

"Of course it is," she said. "Of course it is."

Harry sighed again. "Good." He still felt guilty though, for not killing Voldemort the first time round – even though he had only been one at the time – and for Dumbledore invading their home and for feeling so bloody responsible for everything.

"You'll be fine," Tiberius told him. "We'll make sure of it."

Harry smiled faintly and opened his eyes to look at the older man. His smile widened at the determination written over Tiberius' face. It felt good to be loved.


	2. The Order of the Phoenix

**Disclaimer: **See the first chapter.

**AN:** I am, quite literally, ovewhelmed by the response this story has received so far. At the moment of me posting this the first chapter of 'Serpens Arcanem' has received 157 reviews. Thank you all so much for being so supportive. I hadn't realised 'Serpens Armarum' was quite that popular!

I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Can we say "hello plot"?

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Two

The Order of the Phoenix

_One of the oldest and most complicated forms of magic is Ward Setting. Over time, simpler wards, such as the Fidelius Charm and the Shielding Charm have been created due to the need for more practical and less magic-consuming forms of protection._

_However, it is widely regarded that the older wards no longer commonly used are the most powerful. Amongst these are Blood Wards (see Chapter Five), which are more commonly used to protect family dwellings and heirlooms, and Sacrificial Wards._

_The setting of Sacrificial Wards has long been considered as a Dark Art as the spells involved call for a willing human sacrifice, and in the Magical Definitions Treaty of 1263 it was stated that no true Light magic calls for the loss of life whether human or non. _

Harry had just flipped the page when the bell above the shop door jingled. He looked up in time to see one of Dumbledore's lackeys from the previous day step through the door. It was the gnarled old man with the crazy eye – the one who'd seemed to know Tiberius from somewhere – and sure enough, the crazy eye fixed on Harry immediately.

"Fancy illusion you've got there, boy," the man said gruffly.

Harry tensed immediately. He knew that the only people who should have been capable of looking through Linael's glamour were Linael and himself. Linael because he had created it; Harry because he was the one wearing it. He broke eye contact immediately; closing his second and third eyelids for insurance as he stared down at his hand. Fine green scales and long black claws met his gaze mockingly.

"I can't see through it," the man said. Harry bit back a relieved sigh. "I just know it's there. Wonder what you're hiding."

"Just Harry," Harry replied. He looked back up and smiled wryly. "Can I help you with something Mr…"

"Moody," the man said. "Alastor Moody."

Harry had heard of him, of course. A paranoid ex-Auror; Moody had been dragged in by Dumbledore to teach Defence at Hogwarts the previous year. According to the _Prophet_, Moody had actually spent the year trapped in a magical trunk; the instructor the students had actually got was an escaped convict from Azkaban: the Death Eater Barty Crouch Junior.

Harry wondered if Hogwarts was having a bit of a running theme, what with all the escaped convicts and Voldemort supporters that seemed to flock to the building.

"Dumbledore wanted me to give you this," Moody said, holding out a scrap of parchment. His crazy eye swivelled in his head, doing a thorough inspection of the shop before he continued. "He told me to tell you that you're welcome there, and that there'll be a meeting tonight."

Harry took the parchment and read it swiftly. _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. _It was written in Dumbledore's handwriting, in the same brilliant green ink that was used on Hogwarts letters.

He frowned. Dumbledore was up to something. He was really, truly up to something, and he was making it obvious that he wanted Harry involved in whatever it was. Harry didn't trust Dumbledore as far as he could throw him – without magic – and he'd thought that he'd made that clear, but apparently that wouldn't stop Dumbledore from playing his little games.

Bastard.

Of course, there was nothing to say that Harry couldn't play those games either. He didn't want to, of course. He had better things to do with his time – like pass his courses and find a way to deal with Voldemort and figure out why the hell Nikolai kept sniggering at him every time he and Linael were in the same room – than deal with Dumbledore. But, he supposed, needs must.

And it wasn't as if he would go into this without backup.

"What time?" he asked.

Moody looked faintly surprised, but he soon masked it. Harry pretended not to notice. It was nice that the older man had estimated his intelligence to be higher than what Harry was letting on. It was sort of comforting.

"Seven," Moody said.

An hour before sundown. Not ideal, but good enough. Harry smiled. "Thank you," he said.

"Burn that," Moody said, nodding to the parchment Harry held in his grasp. Then, without another word, he turned and left.

Harry sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "Fuck," he muttered. Then, looking at the parchment, he switched languages. "_Burn_," he hissed.

Dumbledore's missive burst into flames. Harry grinned. He loved Parselmagic.

* * *

"This is not a good idea," Tiberius said. "Didn't you tell us just yesterday that you were going to do this on your own terms?" The words "you're being phenomenally stupid" were left unsaid.

"And didn't you say that I shouldn't alienate powerful potential allies?" Harry argued.

Tiberius still didn't look happy. Harry understood how he felt probably better than Tiberius realised. He wasn't happy about this. In fact, Harry sincerely doubted that anyone other than Dumbledore would be happy about him turning up at Grimmauld Place. Tiberius was right. He was being phenomenally stupid, and the worst part about it was that Harry knew it.

"I did," Tiberius said. "But there's building bridges and then there's walking straight into the headquarters of the Order of the bloody Phoenix half-cocked."

"Can't be any worse than the Chamber of Secrets," Harry pointed out.

"And look where that got you, Mr Snake Thing," Tiberius snapped. Then he sighed and ran a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're still wearing that bracelet of yours, aren't you?" he asked.

"Of course," Harry said. At the mention of the bracelet, his hand moved automatically to fiddle with the fine silver chain. It would call Linael to him no matter where he was, just as long as he kept wearing it. He hadn't taken it off ever since Linael had given it to him for his thirteenth birthday, two years ago. "I'm not daft enough to go into this entirely on my own. And besides, if Linael can get through the wards of Hogwarts and into the Chamber of Secrets then he can certainly get past the Fidelius Charm."

"Not that anyone knows what the wards around Hogwarts actually are," Tiberius pointed out. He sighed again. "Alright," he said. "Go. But be careful, Harry, and keep that temper of yours under control."

Harry nodded, but as he stepped out of the Hostel and into the shadowy side streets of magical London, he couldn't help but mutter to himself. "It's not my temper that I'm worried about. It's the instincts."

The narrow streets he walked through didn't frighten him anymore. When he'd first arrived at the Hostel he'd been scared and confused by the changes in his body and his senses, and by the Aurors and Unspeakables who'd flooded Diagon Alley in search of him. His sudden meeting with Tiberius and the swift journey through the twisting labyrinth he hadn't realised existed had set him even further off balance. But, over the years, he'd come to regard these streets as his home and he'd learned to walk them without fear.

The cobbles under his feet shone gold where the sunlight hit them, reminding him of an old saying he'd heard when he'd lived with Muggles. Something that might have come from a book. He knew that he'd been confused when he'd first heard it, but now he thought he understood. He wasn't all that keen on the city, but there were times when he thought it was beautiful.

He smiled faintly, and tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. His nerves were shot to hell, he was about to come face to face with the Order of the Phoenix, and all he could think about was how pretty the sunlight was. Sometimes, Harry really wondered about himself.

He transfigured his cloak into a jacket before he stepped out of magical London and into the Muggle world. His emancipation had brought about several changes in his life – most of which were for the better – and one of the best changes of all was that, as a legal adult, he could use his wand whenever he liked. It certainly made his studies a lot easier, though he did try not to rely on it too much. He didn't want to become lazy, unlike the majority of wizards he'd met, and while Parselmagic was cool – and rather fun – it did tend to worry people when he used it. Not to mention that it wasn't exactly made for things like Transfiguration.

It wasn't like snakes had all that much interest in turning pineapples into earmuffs, after all.

Grimmauld Place turned out to be rather run down. Huge Georgian style terraces that had no doubt once been grand faced onto a rectangular patch of grass dotted with sickly looking trees and strewn with litter. The only remotely interesting thing about the place was that, at first glance, number twelve seemed to be missing. But as Harry stood on the cracked pavement and stared up at the join between houses eleven and thirteen, number twelve began to grow out of the wall; shunting the other houses to the side; the Muggles within them completely oblivious.

It wasn't what Harry had been expecting. He hadn't really known what to expect, but this hadn't even crossed his mind. Number twelve had somehow managed to be even shabbier than the rest of the houses in the square. The black paint on its door and window frames was peeling, and the windows were grey with dirt. The floating colours superimposed over Harry's normal vision told him that most of the people within were gathered towards the back of the house on the ground floor: too far away and too close together to show him an exact number. There were a few more people spotted about on the third floor, where he could only assume the bedrooms were. Even though he couldn't tell the exact number, the size of the heat signatures told him that this time, he would be faced with a lot more of Dumbledore's supporters than just ten.

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked up the steps leading to the front door. The door handle was in the shape of a serpent about to strike, wrought in tarnished silver. It was an odd choice, in Harry's opinion. It spoke of old, Slytherin, pureblood lines more than anything else; certainly not Dumbledore's tendency to lean towards all things Gryffindor.

"_Open_," he hissed softly, and with a soft click, the door obeyed. Harry pushed it open slowly, and flickered his tongue out to taste the air. It tasted of old dirt, the ozone tang of magic – Dark magic – and the salty musk of humans. Harry felt his eyes burn into the yellow of a Basilisk's in response to the taste of the air, and he automatically closed his second and third eyelids. He would be cautious.

He slipped his wand out of his sleeve and held it loosely between his fingers. He'd rather shield and stun than petrify and kill, after all.

His footsteps, as he stepped into the hall, were muffled by the thick layer of dusk over an equally thick carpet. There were footprints running through it, revealing the carpet to be some sort of murky green colour that had – hopefully – once been a brighter, lighter shade. With the dirt and dusk ground into it, it looked sort of swampy. Harry wrinkled his nose. No doubt by now, Aurora and Isabella would be throwing fits over hygiene and bad taste in décor.

Speaking of bad décor, were those House Elf heads mounted on the walls? Ew…

He shut the door behind him with a soft click, and moved slowly towards the heat signatures at the back of the house. On his left, stairs swooped up towards the high ceiling, edged with filthy banisters, and further down the corridor, doors made of dark wood led into hidden rooms. Portraits rustled and whispered on either side of him, and Harry knew that they were watching him. It even felt like the Elf heads were looking at him too.

His hand strayed towards the silver chain around his wrist, but he stopped himself from calling out for Linael at the last moment. The house was creepy. Definitely very, very creepy; creepier, in fact, than the Chamber of Secrets. Hadn't he told Tiberius it couldn't be that bad?

Harry felt an uncontrollable urge to smack himself. Really, he should have known better.

Eventually, he came to a stop outside the room that held the heat signatures. He could hear voices, but they were muffled so he couldn't hear what they were saying. He was more interested in the numbers anyway. From the way the heat signatures were positioned, there were at least thirty people in the room, and most of them seemed to be sitting around something. A table, most likely.

One of them moved towards the door, and Harry shrunk back against the wall. From the way he was standing, if the door opened then it would hide him from whoever came through it but that didn't mean he should draw attention to himself. He pressed his left hand against his mouth and nose to muffle the sound of his breathing, and gripped his wand tighter with his right. The heat signature reached the door, the handle turned, and the door opened.

Harry had never been happier to see Sirius Black in his entire life. He lowered his hand and gave a soft sigh of relief. Sirius glanced almost imperceptibly towards him, before swinging the door shut behind him. Then he turned to look at Harry properly.

Harry bit his lip. He could tell from the look in Sirius' eyes that he wasn't a happy man, and he couldn't help but wonder how much of that was to do with him. They'd kept in touch, of course, but it had mostly been through letters. Sirius had been pronounced innocent by the Ministry – and the _Prophet_ – but that didn't mean that he was quite…sane. He had spent twelve years in the tender care of Dementors, after all.

Still, there was no denying that despite the gap between Sirius' fantasy of his godson and the reality that was Harry, Sirius cared for him.

Sirius didn't say a word. He just reached out and grasped the sleeve of Harry's transfigured jacket before dragging him into one of the side rooms. Candles set in elaborate, tarnished silver holders burst into flame as they entered and Harry jumped. Sirius didn't let go, though, even as the door swung shut behind them.

"_Muffliato_," he growled, flicking his wand towards the door. Then, only then, did he turn back to Harry. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Dumbledore invited me for the Order meeting," Harry said. "I know it's probably a trap, but I thought I'd come along anyway."

The expression on Sirius' face darkened even further. "Dumbledore did what?" he growled, sounding a lot like his Animagus form.

"Invited me for the Order meeting," Harry repeated. "He sent the message with Alastor Moody."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and turned away in anger. Flickering his tongue out, Harry could taste the bitterness of his fury in the air.

"You need to go, Harry," Sirius said. "Before Dumbledore gets here. He didn't tell any of us about this, except Moody, apparently. You've –"

"Walked right into it," Harry finished for him. "I guessed something like this would happen. But Sirius, I need help in this. If Voldemort's really back then I need all the help I can get."

Sirius turned back to look at him. "I know what you're asking from me Harry, but I can't," he said. The pure sorrow in his voice made Harry's chest ache. "I can't go against Dumbledore."

So Harry had been right, all those years ago. He'd suspected, when Dumbledore didn't put up more of a fight over Sirius' innocence being proved. Sirius had never told him anything, throughout the history of their relationship; he'd never given Harry a clue what Dumbledore could have over him.

"Why?" Harry asked. He hated how choked up his voice sounded.

"It was in my sixth year," Sirius told him softly, unable to meet Harry's gaze. "I'd always been a trouble maker. A prankster. Your father – our entire group of friends – we all were. But I went too far. I almost got another student killed. It was your father that saved him, Harry, but the damage was done and if it ever got out then..."

"Then?" Harry prompted.

"Then I'd be shoved back in Azkaban and Remus would be executed."

There was a horrible sense of finality in that statement.

"Dumbledore covered for me," Sirius went on. "He covered for all of us. He even got S – the student to swear to keep his mouth shut. So that's why I can't help you Harry. I'm going too far against him as it is. He's desperate to get you back under his wing. Absolutely desperate. You need to go, Harry."

"I will," Harry promised. "I'll go. I…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. There was nothing he could do to get Sirius out of this one, especially when the threat of punishment hung over Lupin's head as well as Sirius' own. "Thank you," he said eventually. "For telling me."

Sirius gave a rueful smile. "No problem, kiddo," he said. Harry didn't need to taste the lie on his tongue to tell it was there. This was something that Sirius probably would have preferred to stay out of their relationship. Harry couldn't blame him.

"I'd better go," Sirius said. "Before they figure out I've been missing for too long. Will you be okay getting out by yourself?"

Harry nodded. "I'll be fine," he said. Sirius looked mildly curious, but Harry wasn't about to tell him. When it came to Dumbledore – and by default, the Order – Linael was something of a secret weapon.

He moved back into the shadows of the room as Sirius opened the door. His godfather glanced back at him, and Harry could see the regret in his eyes. Then the door closed between them, blocking Sirius off from view. Harry winced at the sound it made. Damn if he didn't feel like he'd just kicked a puppy.

He slipped his wand back up his sleeve and ran his fingers over the fine silver bracelet that hung around his left wrist. He felt the familiar thrum of Linael's magic beneath his fingertips and closed his eyes. "Linael," he whispered.

When he opened his eyes again, it was just in time to see the Drow step out of the shadows that gathered in one of the corners of the room. He looked tired, and his starlit hair was still mussed with sleep, tumbling messily down over his bare chest. He hid a yawn behind a long-fingered hand, and stretched before moving further out of the shadows and into the candlelight. He shot Harry a smile that made heat blossom in Harry's stomach and the tips of his toes tingle.

He watched as Linael took a curious look around the room. The Drow blinked, and Harry saw his nose wrinkle with distaste. "I hope you don't mind me asking," he said, "but where are we this time?"

"Order of the Phoenix headquarters?" Harry said, hoping that he wouldn't get yet another reminder of his own stupidity.

"The what headquarters?" Linael asked.

"Never mind," Harry said. "I'll explain when we get back to the Hostel. Promise. But, uh, we kind of need to get out of here before Dumbledore arrives."

That definitely got Linael's attention. "Dumbledore?" he asked sharply. "I thought you told him yesterday evening that you wanted nothing to do with him?"

Harry felt a stab of guilt. He had done that. And then he'd been stupid and decided to try and give Dumbledore another chance – even though the old man didn't deserve it – and now he was stuck in a house that looked like a horror-film reject, in the middle of a trap, with Dumbledore about to bear down on him.

"I said I'd explain –"

He was cut off by a soft crack. He froze. Venom slicked his teeth and he had to fight to keep his second and third eyelids closed. Killing anything, especially Linael – who was right in front of him – while on Dumbledore's turf would bring a whole new meaning to the phrase 'bad idea'.

Linael looked down in mild surprise as a House Elf – a live one – skulked forward, dressed in a filthy pillowcase. Its head was lowered, and it was mumbling to itself, bony hands clutching desperately at something that glimmered softly in the candlelight. Once again, Harry couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Linael – tall, proud and stunningly beautiful – was related to such a being, however distantly.

"Kreacher felt the High One arrive, oh yes," the House Elf said. Its voice was raspy and almost completely devoid of any trace of sanity. "Kreacher felt it, though the filthy traitors sullying his Mistress' halls did not."

Linael looked up at Harry. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Harry would have burst out laughing at the expression on Linael's face. He'd never seen the Drow look so disconcerted before.

"Is there something you wanted with me?" Linael asked slowly.

The House Elf shuddered. "Fealty to blood before family," it said. "Old Elf Lore. But Kreacher serves family still. Master Regulus, yes, though he's dead. Better a dead master than the blood traitor scum and his half-breeds."

Harry felt faintly sick. The Elf was beginning to sound more and more like a subservient Draco Malfoy.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it, but Kreacher can't. Kreacher has failed his master, but the High One…" the House Elf trailed off and managed to lift its head long enough to actually look at Linael before cringing away again. "The High One is stronger, so Kreacher begs him. Begs him to help Kreacher to serve his master. Begs him to destroy it."

Linael crouched down. Harry approached him slowly, curious to see what the House Elf was up to.

"What do you want me to destroy, Kreacher?" Linael asked softly.

The shining object in the House Elf's hands tumbled to the floor as the House Elf raised its hands to clutch at its ears and twist them. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Linael wince in sympathy. Apparently ears were very sensitive among the Sidhe species.

"Master Regulus would be so ashamed of Kreacher begging for help! Not fitting for the Noble House of Black!" The House Elf was sobbing now. "But Kreacher has no choice! Kreacher must obey Master Regulus even if he has to beg to do it."

Linael reached down towards the object, and when he scooped it off the floor and held it up to the light, Harry saw that it was a silver locket hanging from a matching silver chain. Linael frowned at it before looking up at him.

"There is some very Dark magic imbued in this," he said. "Very Dark and very powerful." He straightened up, the locket still dangling from his fingers. Linael held it at arm's length, reluctant to touch it. Harry let his tongue flicker out and promptly wished that he hadn't. The air around the locket tasted foul: the normal ozone taste of magic was tainted with something terrible.

"You did well to bring this to me Kreacher," Linael said quietly. "You did very well. I give my word that it will be destroyed. You have fulfilled your master's commands."

The House Elf's sobs abated. "Kreacher thanks the High One," it said. "Kreacher swears to do anything, anything to help the High One."

Linael gave Harry a desperate look. Harry read the confusion easily. What could Linael ask a mad, old House Elf for? What could the Elf give that Linael would want?

It came to him in a flash, and on impulse Harry leaned up to whisper into Linael's ear. He felt Linael shiver slightly as his breath washed over the Drow's pointed ear, but he ignored it. When he drew back, Linael raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to the House Elf that grovelled at his feet.

"I want you to report to me on the dealings of the Order of the Phoenix," Linael said. "This is a very important task, Kreacher." The Elf looked up at Linael in amazement before apparently remembering itself and going back to staring at the floor. "Your adherence to the Lore has shown that I can trust you, Kreacher. Do not disappoint me."

"No, High One," the Elf whispered reverently. "Never disappoint the High One."

"Then leave us," Linael ordered.

The House Elf vanished with another soft crack. For a moment, a heavy silence hung in the room as both Harry and Linael tried to process what had just happened.

"Well," Linael said eventually. "At least you never summon me to anywhere boring."

He shot Harry a rueful look and Harry couldn't help but let a sheepish smile spread over his face. Linael just shook his head, an odd glimmer in his golden eyes.

"Come then," he said, taking Harry's hand in his own. "We've lingered too long."

Harry gripped the long fingers tightly as they vanished together into the cold embrace of the shadows; Linael still holding Kreacher's locket out before him.


	3. Horcrux

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** Ah, more plot. I seem to be on a bit of a roll with this story at the moment.

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Three

Horcrux

They stepped out of the shadows and into the dining room of Last Hope Hostel just as Aurora finished laying the table. She jumped at their sudden appearance, raising a hand to clutch at her chest in shock.

"For heaven's sake, Linael," she said sharply. "Give a little warning."

"My apologies," Linael murmured.

Aurora turned her gaze sharply to Harry, and he cringed at the look she gave him. "Tiberius told me what you were up to," she said. "I take it things haven't changed then?"

"Dumbledore wanted to trap me there," Harry told her. "I was expecting it, but I hoped…" He shrugged helplessly. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. We've got a spy there now."

There was a snort from the doorway. It was Tiberius, and behind him were Isabella, Nikolai and Seraphina. "That godfather of yours, I suppose?" Tiberius asked.

"His House Elf," Linael corrected. "A rather…eccentric individual called Kreacher."

"I thought House Elves couldn't go against their human masters," Isabella said as she swept into the room behind Tiberius. Nikolai followed her closely, and Harry could see the smug smile spreading on his face as his gaze darted between Harry and Linael's still sleep-rumpled form. Harry stuck his tongue out at him, and then grimaced as he got another taste of the polluted air that surrounded the locket.

"In most cases they can't," Linael admitted. He took his usual seat at the dining table and placed the locket next to his plate, looking relieved that he no longer had to touch it. It was only when his actions dragged Harry closer to the table that he realised that their hands were still clasped together. Harry felt his face heat up and gently disentangled his fingers from Linael's grasp.

"A long time ago," Linael continued, "when they rebelled against the High Courts of Summer and Winter, the King and Queen placed an enchantment on them so that they couldn't disobey their new, human masters like they had us. But the enchantment doesn't stop them from asking for help in return for a tithe. And even if the tithe goes against their master's will, they still have to pay it."

"Wait a minute," Nikolai said. "A couple of House Elves disobeyed you so you condemned the entire species to servitude?"

"Not personally, but yes, that's the jist of it," Linael said. "They refused to pay their tithes to either Court, so they were punished."

"And what did this Kreacher ask of you for you to be able to get him to do that?" Tiberius asked curiously.

"He wants me to destroy this," Linael replied, shoving the locket into the centre of the table as he spoke.

There was a moment's silence. Seraphina, Harry noticed, turned white and leaned back in her seat as if trying to get as far away from the locket as she could without leaving her seat. The others, on the other hand, all leaned in to study it.

"A locket?" Tiberius asked. "Why would a House Elf want a locket destroyed?"

"Because it's hideously tacky?" Isabella suggested.

Harry coughed to hide his laughter. "His old master, Regulus – or something like that – wanted him to destroy it, but he couldn't," he explained. "I don't blame him. The air around it tastes foul."

It was a testament to how used the others were to his serpentine quirks that only Seraphina shot him an odd look. She was only staying with them for a few weeks while she arranged for a new flat, and she was the only one among them who didn't know that Harry was human.

"The silver's been corrupted," Linael added. "I have never seen anything like this before."

Aurora returned from the kitchen, their meals floating in the air before her. Spaghetti bolognaise, heated pitchers filled with blood, and a fruit salad.

"That's saying a lot," she said as she lowered their various plates down before them. "With the amount of metal work you've done in your time."

Linael bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"The hard part now is how do you destroy it if you don't know what it is?" Nikolai asked. "I mean, if there's an enchantment on it then getting it wrong could be nasty." He poured himself a cup of blood. "Did the Elf give you any clues?"

"None," Linael sighed. Harry shook his head in agreement; his mouth too full for him to speak up.

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure something out," Aurora said. "Are you alright, Seraphina? You're looking a bit peaky."

Seraphina looked up from her spaghetti and gave a nervous smile, before glancing at the locket.

Harry swallowed. "You know what it is," he said.

She glared at him. "You're not bringing me into this," she said. "Absolutely not."

"But if you know what it is –"

"I do know!" she burst out, dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter. "And if you did too then you'd want nothing to do with it! That foul little Elf should never have dragged you into this. You should never have brought it here!"

"Seraphina!" Aurora looked shocked by the outburst; Tiberius just looked tired, as though he had been expecting it somehow. Harry forced his expression to remain as neutral as possible, attempting to match Isabella in her practised apathy.

She looked away from them. "There's nothing you can do, anyway," she said. "You can't destroy them."

"Them?" Harry asked. "There's more than one?"

Seraphina snorted. "Of course," she said. "God, my future mother-in-law – mad old bat, she was – was so proud when the Dark Lord gave two of them to Reg and Bella. Two of them going to the Blacks for protection! And the third going to Cissy's husband too! Never mind that the Blacks pretty much had the monopoly on the inner circle."

"You were involved with Death Eaters?" Isabella asked. She sounded incredulous. Harry didn't blame her. Seraphina was usually so decent.

"Regulus Black was my fiancée before he died," Seraphina explained. "It would have been Sirius, but he eloped with a werewolf or something like that, so I was given to the younger brother instead." She sighed and reached for the pitcher of water, pouring herself a glass and taking a sip before continuing. "Then the Dark Lord fell and the Blacks were ruined, along with pretty much everyone else who could have – would have – supported me." She ran a hand through her short, blonde hair. "You think I chose to do this?"

Harry had no idea what she was talking about, but judging from the uncomfortable expressions on the others' faces, they did.

"Reg died trying to destroy that thing," she said. "I want nothing to do with it. Nothing."

"And it is…" Harry prompted.

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?" she asked, glaring at him.

"No," he said. Linael's voice echoed his own, and he glanced to his left to see Linael eyeing Seraphina coolly over the chunk of watermelon he held speared on his fork.

"It's a Horcrux," she said.

Tiberius sucked in a breath.

"What's a –" Harry started, but Tiberius cut him off.

"It's a fragment of a human soul, trapped in an inanimate object," he explained. "Very powerful Dark magic; anyone who even thinks of making one is…pretty much irredeemable. It's not surprising you've never seen one before, Linael. They're rare enough among humans, and I doubt the Drow would have much use for a device intended to prolong life."

Linael's lips twisted into a rough approximation of a smile. "True," he murmured. "We live long enough as it is."

"How would splitting your soul prolong your life?" Harry asked. Part of his long-distance studies had included Dark Arts – though that's what he got for enrolling at Durmstrang – but he'd never heard of such a practice.

"The soul fragment sealed away in an object would survive even if the wizard's body was destroyed," Tiberius explained.

"Sort of like Sauron's ring?" Nikolai asked.

Harry was relieved that he wasn't the only one confused by all of this.

"Exactly," Tiberius agreed. "It's thought that if you provide a Horcrux with enough magic and life energy, that the soul fragment it contains would be able to take on corporeal form. Would be able to come back to life, in other words."

That sounded horribly familiar. Harry pondered it for a moment over a mouthful of pasta, only to choke when realisation hit him. Tom Riddle's diary! He swallowed hastily and turned back to Seraphina.

"What forms did the others take?" he demanded. "Did Regulus tell you?"

She looked at him in shock. "They, uh, Bella got a cup or a goblet of some sort," she said. "And Lucius got a book."

"A diary," Harry corrected. "It was a diary."

"The one in your second year," Linael breathed. Harry nodded.

He hadn't imagined he would ever come across something like the diary again. The memory of Tom Riddle writing his name in the air with Harry's wand; smirking as he told Harry that little Ginny Weasley would never wake up. Harry shuddered violently. The young Tom Riddle had managed to be even more evil than the spirit of Lord Voldemort that had stared at him out of the back of Quirrell's skull.

He'd been terrifying.

"Well that solves the problem of how to destroy it, at least," Isabella said. "You used Basilisk venom last time, didn't you Harry?"

Seraphina stared at him for a moment, before scoffing and looking away. "Yes, because that's so easy to get a hold of," she said.

"Easier than finding a handy volcano," Nikolai murmured. Isabella rolled her eyes and swatted at his arm.

Harry smiled at Isabella faintly. She was right, of course. He knew from his last term at Hogwarts that his venom could burn through solid stone; and if what his snakes had told him was correct, then his venom was also far superior to that of a Basilisk. All he would need to do to destroy the Horcrux lying so innocently on the table in front of him would be to spit some of his venom onto it and sit back as it dissolved away to nothing. There would be no Basilisk to fight this time; no one to save; just a part of Voldemort to destroy.

The thought made Harry's smile widen.

He knew that he had no right to feel responsible for the things Voldemort did. He wasn't Voldemort's mother – a distant cousin, perhaps – but he couldn't help it. It had somehow managed to become ingrained in him. Possibly because of his confrontations with Voldemort at Hogwarts or the way people treated him like he was some sort of all-powerful saviour because of something he couldn't clearly remember.

Either way, killing Voldemort – or at least a part of him – sounded very appealing.

"It won't be a problem," he said softly.

He just couldn't help but wonder how many other Horcruxes Voldemort had made. Had Voldemort used one to aide in his return? Even if he hadn't, were there still more out there that Seraphina didn't know of? Voldemort didn't exactly strike Harry as the type to give up all the pieces of his soul to his followers. There was something incredibly stupid about it, and Harry had to admit that while Voldemort was insane; he was also highly intelligent.

If he'd been stupid, Harry didn't doubt that Voldemort wouldn't have lasted long enough to ever confront the Potters. It was just Harry's luck that Voldemort had been clever rather than in the same league as Crabbe and Goyle.

"There will be more of them, though," he said. "He won't have given them all away to his followers."

"True," Tiberius said.

"Don't you dare, young man!" Aurora said, cutting off anything else that her husband might have said. Harry blinked at her owlishly.

"Aurora," Tiberius said. "Harry is one of the few people in the world who can destroy those with ease. If he wants to hunt them down then we can't stand in his way."

"If he wants to do it then he's a fool," Seraphina cut in.

Harry glared at her. He'd liked Seraphina before that night. Now, however, she was grating on his nerves.

"He would not be alone, of course," Linael said before Harry could say anything.

Harry turned to stare at him in shock. Linael was rather determinedly not looking at him, and seemed to be focussing all of his attention on the few remaining pomegranate seeds in his bowl. Nikolai sniggered into his cup, and Harry jolted at the sound. He couldn't help but feel that something had been broken.

"No," Tiberius murmured. "He wouldn't be."

"Then you're all fools," Seraphina commented.

"Then that's our problem, isn't it?" Tiberius said mildly.

Harry grinned.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence. Nikolai and Isabella talked between themselves, their heads bent close together, while Seraphina picked at her food; an expression of misery and anger on her face. She left as soon as the plates were cleared; muttering something about heading out for work as she walked out the door.

Linael headed up the stairs when the meal was over, no doubt heading to his room to get dressed. Harry, who walked behind him holding the locket by its chain, watched as the lean muscles in Linael's back shifted under his dark skin as he climbed. It was an oddly hypnotic sight, and it was only when Linael turned to go into his bedroom that Harry managed to tear his eyes away.

What was wrong with him?

When he got to his room, he found Hedwig sitting on her perch, drinking eagerly from her water tray. There was a rolled up envelope still tied to her leg, and Harry grinned at the sight of it. He dropped the locket onto his desk – careful to place it at the opposite end of the desk from his snakes' tank; he didn't want them to have to taste the polluted air around it – and hurried over to her.

"Hey there, girl," he said softly. "Was your journey okay?"

She gave a soft affirmative hoot and held out her leg even as she kept gulping down her water. Harry untied the letter and gently stroked the soft feathers on the back of her neck.

The letter was from Neville, and he couldn't help but let his grin widen as he ripped open the envelope to read the message within.

_Harry,_

_Thanks for the present! I don't know where you found those seeds, and I'm not going to ask in case Gran finds your reply and realises that I've been smuggling illegal plants into our greenhouses. She already thinks you're corrupting me, and I'm beginning to think she's right. Fortunately she doesn't know enough about Herbology to recognise a manchineel when she sees one._

_It's still cool though._

_I'll be in Diagon Alley on the tenth to collect my school things if you'd like to meet up. It would be good to see you again in person. Shall we meet at one outside of Florean Fortescue's?_

_Hope you're doing alright,_

_Neville._

Harry folded the letter slowly. He'd have to ask Tiberius for the day off, but he couldn't see that being a problem. When it came to time off, Tiberius was a generous employer, though Harry suspected that was mostly due to Tiberius' near-consuming need to be near books as often as possible rather than a statement about Harry's abilities as a shop assistant.

He glanced over to the locket on his desk. Maybe he should run the idea past Neville before doing anything else phenomenally. He was so completely grounded in reality that Harry knew he would be able to trust his advice.

He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and scrawled a simple _Sounds good. See you there_ on it, ready to send off with Hedwig as soon as she felt up to the journey back to Lancashire.

As he looked back up, however, he spotted Apep, Nyx and Dawlygin – his three Black Desert Cobras – curled up together at the side of their tank, staring at the Horcrux; their noses so close to the glass that their tongues barely had room to flicker out.

"_Tastes like poison,"_ he heard Apep hiss to his sisters.

Harry looked down at the locket. Regardless of any advice he might receive from Neville or anyone else, there was no reason to keep it lying around. It was polluting his room, and the taste of it was beginning to make his eyes sting in a way that had nothing to do with their shift to Basilisk form.

He focussed on his memory of the fear he had felt while facing down Tom Riddle and the Basilisk, and soon felt his teeth grow slick with his venom. Opening his mouth, he ran a finger over his teeth and then reached down to smear the thick yellow liquid over the tainted silver of the locket. Seconds later, the metal began to sizzle and burn, releasing acrid black smoke into the air.

Coughing and spluttering, Harry raced over to his window and flung it open, letting the smoke escape into the cool evening air. He returned to his desk just in time to see his venom finish burning a hole straight through the locket. There was a faint scream of pure, hair-raising fury and then nothing. Harry flickered his tongue out to taste the air. Beyond the foul taste of the lingering smoke, he could taste that the Dark magic that had been corrupting the silver had vanished.

He picked the locket up again by its chain before his venom could start burning a hole through his desk as well, and studied it closely. It was little more than a twisted lump of metal now. It was hard to believe that it had once been a powerful Dark artefact. It had been almost too easy to destroy.

"_The Emperor's venom is the strongest,"_ Dawlygin hissed softly. She sounded pretty smug about the whole thing.

Harry sighed softly at the now familiar saying. "Thanks, Doll," he muttered in English. "No pressure or anything."

There was no reply.


	4. Ice Cream and Advice

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** This is a shorter chapter than the others, but it's necessary. I hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Four

Ice Cream and Advice

Neville was already there by the time Harry turned out of Knockturn Alley and onto Diagon. He looked slightly paler than usual, which made Harry frown slightly, and his face had lost some of its roundness due to a growth spurt. But when he looked up from his sundae and spotted Harry making his way through the bustling crowd, it was the same warm, familiar grin that spread across his features. Harry grinned back.

Before he sat down, he slipped into the shop to get his own ice cream: two scoops of blood, with one scoop of raspberry sprinkled with sliced cherries and chopped nuts. Nikolai – damn him – had got him hooked on blood flavoured ice cream shortly after he'd left Hogwarts. Harry sometimes wondered if Nikolai took pleasure in corrupting his mind; not that eating blood flavoured ice cream was any weirder than snacking on live mice.

Once back outside, he flung himself into the chair opposite Neville and grinned at him over the table. "You look happy," he said by way of greeting.

"Glad to get out of the house," Neville told him. "It's been pissing it down since June, up our way. Can't even go down to the greenhouses without getting drenched."

"That's what you get for being a Northerner," Harry told him.

"Better than being a Southern pansy like you," Neville retorted.

They shared a grin. "It's good to see you again," Harry said.

"And you," Neville told him. "This summer's been mad. Ever since the Tournament ended and Dumbledore started spouting off about You-Know-Who being back, Gran's been harping at me to study harder in Defence. She even gave me Mum and Dad's journals from when they were Aurors! But I keep telling her the only teacher we've had who taught us anything in that subject was Lupin, and one out of four's a crap turn out no matter which way you look at it."

Harry nodded. "Should have escaped like I did," he said.

Neville shook his head. "Long-distance learning's rare, Harry," he said. "It's likely Durmstrang only let you do it because of your scar."

"Like the rest of the world," Harry muttered. "Besides, you've got this year's teacher to find out about now. Know anything about him?"

"Not a clue," Neville said, shaking his head and taking a spoonful of ice cream. He paused for a moment to let it melt in his mouth, briefly letting his eyes close in bliss. "All I know is that whoever it is has naff taste in books. Gran said it'll teach us nothing but how to die messily. I think she might be right, judging how the Ministry's denying all that stuff about You-Know-Who."

"The Ministry's a load of morons," Harry told him. "Dumbledore's telling the truth."

Neville gave him an odd look. "How do you know that?" he asked.

Harry tapped his scar. "It burned when Diggory died," he said. "That, and he wasn't properly dead in the first place."

"Huh," Neville said, slumping back in his seat. "Crap."

Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

"Gran always said that she didn't think You-Know-Who was human enough to die," Neville mused, poking at his ice cream with his spoon. "Looks like she was right. Again."

The way he said it made Harry think that it was something of a common occurrence in Neville's life. But before Neville could continue, he pounced on the opportunity to tell him about the Horcruxes.

"There is a way to kill him," Harry said. "It turns out he split his soul apart, and sealed the pieces in different objects."

"Always nice to know that someone takes Tolkien a bit too seriously," Neville murmured, letting a grin flitter over his face. "How do you know all this, Harry?"

"Deus ex machina?" Harry replied, shrugging helplessly. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, remember? The universe strives to give me ways to defeat Voldemort. It's not like I ask for it."

Neville conceded the point. Apparently he knew enough about Harry by now to realise that Harry would like nothing more than to step back from the role of hero.

"So there's more than one?" he asked.

"At least three," Harry told him. "I've destroyed two already, but I think that there's more. You see, he gave the ones I know about to his followers, and I know – I just know – that he's not stupid enough to have given them all to Death Eaters to protect. He'll have some hidden away somewhere for insurance, or something."

"Skipping over the part where you have your own, personal Mount Doom," Neville said slowly. He was looking at Harry as if he wasn't quite sure that Harry was real. "Since I'm fairly sure that's one of those things that you're going to want to keep secret…if he has got more than one, Harry, how are you going to find them? I mean, it's not like he'll have left a map with '_X Marks The Spot'_ scrawled over the top of it, is it? And I seriously doubt a Summoning Charm would work."

"I know," Harry groaned, stabbing viciously at his ice cream before taking a bite. The strange combination of coppery blood, raspberries and sugar combined on his tongue and he smiled as he savoured it. Damn corrupting vampires… "And it's not like I can go to Dumbledore for help either, is it? Not after –" h e paused, realising Neville didn't know about his idiotic escapade at Grimmauld Place "– not after everything that's happened. And I bet you anything that he'd know something."

"How comforting," Neville said sarcastically.

A few years ago, when they'd first met, Harry had taken one look at Neville's round, honest face and believed him incapable of insincerity. Friendship had opened his eyes in that respect. Neville, while he did tend towards an honest loyalty that almost screamed Hufflepuff, was more than capable of matching Harry when it came to sarcasm, cynicism, and all-round biting wit. It would probably stun most people into silence – Harry knew for a fact that he wasn't the only person who had underestimated Neville – particularly Slytherins. Idly, Harry wondered what Snape or Malfoy would do if they ever got the chance to hear Neville's soft, Lancastrian accent drawl in exaggerated cynicism.

They'd probably keel over; dead from heart failure.

He took another bite of ice cream. Neville was watching him carefully.

"I know what you're going to do, Harry," Neville said quietly. "You're going to go after and destroy those soul fragments. You'll try to kill You-Know-Who – even though you don't have to – on the sly, without him noticing. But Harry…where are you going to even start?"

The hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley faded away as Harry slipped into thought. He did know some things about Voldemort, he supposed, but not enough to know where the man would hide something so important. He would need to talk to someone who knew Voldemort, but who? Death Eaters were out, as was Dumbledore. And while Harry had said that he was pretty sure Dumbledore would know something about the Horcruxes, that wasn't necessarily true. They were pretty obscure, after all. It was surprising that Tiberius knew about them, and he was yet another old wizard who seemed to know just about everything.

"I know that he grew up in a Muggle orphanage," Harry said slowly.

Neville got that look again; the one that suggested that he thought Harry was on a different planet. "Ah, Harry? You-Know-Who hated Muggles. You really think that he'd leave parts of his _soul_ with them?"

"No, but I do think that some of the people who lived there with him might…I don't know, remember if he had any little quirks, or if there were any places that he liked to go."

"Harry this must have been, what, fifty years ago?" Neville asked. "How can you be sure that they'll remember him?"

It was Harry's turn to give Neville an odd look. "Do you really think he's that forgettable?" he asked.

Neville grimaced. "No, I don't suppose he would be."

"And anyway, Muggles have to have records of him somewhere," Harry said. "Back from when he was little. He was at an orphanage from birth, I think."

"Do you know his real name?" Neville asked curiously. "I mean, if can't possibly be Vol –"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry told him, before Neville started choking on the Dark Lord's assumed moniker. "He was named after his father, with his grandfather's name as a middle name."

"Well that's another thing to look for, then," Neville said. "Riddle can't be that common a name."

He had a point, Harry supposed. It was worth a try, at least. He nodded. "I'll look into it," he assured his friend.

Neville smiled faintly. "Just one more thing, Harry," he said. "The two safest places in the Wizarding world are Hogwarts and Gringotts. If I wanted to hide a piece of my soul somewhere, it would be in one of them."

Harry suddenly got the feeling that he was very much out of his depth. "Oh," he said. "Well that sucks."

Just typical. Hogwarts was a literal fortress. The mere thought of breaking in there was enough to send shivers down Harry's spine, and Gringotts was even worse! The goblins respected him, ever since he'd inherited the Slytherin vault and taken the time to learn Gobbledegook, but that didn't mean they'd just let him waltz in and steal something.

His head hit the table. Neville reached across to ruffle his hair sympathetically.

"Tell you what," he said. "I'll keep an eye out at Hogwarts this year, and I'll tell you if I spot an artefact of great, unspeakable evil."

"Thanks," Harry said, his voice muffled by the table. "I'll write back to you from Azkaban, or whatever other hell the goblins decide to put me in."

"So glad you'll be thinking of me," Neville said lightly. "Come on," he continued. "Finish your ice cream. I've got a couple of hours to spare before Gran comes to drag me back home, so maybe we could have a bit of a wander round to take your mind off things. I want to see the place you brought my manchineel from, anyway."

Harry lifted his head off the table and grinned. "Thanks Neville," he said.

Neville waved him off. "Face it Harry, without me you'd be doomed."

"I have to break into Hogwarts or Gringotts so that I can kill a Dark Lord," Harry reminded him quietly. "I'm doomed either way you look at it."

Neville's laughter wasn't comforting in the slightest.


	5. Return to Hogwarts

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** Sorry about the long wait for this. Moving countries is not a particularly fun experience, and it doesn't exactly provide much spare time.

A lot of people have asked if, since Neville is in the character listings for this story, whether I will be pairing him with Harry instead of Linael. Um...no. I have nothing against Harry/Neville fic, and I'll probably end up writing one one day. However, THIS IS NOT THAT STORY. 'Armarum' built up the subtext for Harry/Linael, and I stated explicitly in the Author's Notes (which apparently no one reads) that that will be the eventual pairing. I even mentioned it in the AN for the first chapter of 'Arcanem'. Harry/Linael is the pairing, and this is the last I'm going to say on the matter.

(By the way, even in the original draft, Neville was never even considered as a possible partner for Harry. I needed him as Harry's friend; nothing more. The pairing was going to be Harry/Blaise, but now that's not going to happen either. Linael bitch-slapped me into submission.)

The reason why Neville is in the character listings is not because of romance. The romance is not the basis for the plot in this series. There are one hell of a lot of stories that do that, but again THIS IS NOT THAT STORY. He's there because I love him and because when the plot for 'Arcanem' was developing in my head I realised that I needed a second main character who - when the narration was fixed on him - would be able to show the goings on at Hogwarts. I loved the premise behind OotP (not the actual book itself) too much to let it go entirely into the background while focussing on Harry's adventures in the wilds of Great Britain. Neville was perfect for that job because, let's face it, he's freaking awesome.

**AN the Second:** The wonderful Wing-Gold-Tiger has drawn two pieces of FanArt for the 'Serpens' series: one of snake-thing Harry and one of Linael. Links to them can be found on my profile. Any and all Fanart is more than welcome - and will be linked - as are your reviews. Thank you all so much for the support.

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Five

Return to Hogwarts

It only took ten minutes for Neville to pack. It was one of the reasons why he was famed at Hogwarts for being so forgetful: he tended to pack quickly at the very last minute; flying around his room and grabbing things in no particular order and throwing them into his trunk. It made his Gran despair at him, especially when his first letter home each year was accompanied by a list of things that he had forgotten and a plea to send them as soon as possible.

Apparently he'd got it from his mother. No Longbottom would dare to be as disorganised as Neville was, not that he was disorganised deliberately. He just tended to forget to pack in advance, or fold his robes, or pick up all of the right text books for the year ahead.

He'd grow out of it eventually. Maybe.

Two things that he was sure to put in his trunk this year, though, were some of his parents' old journals from when they had been Aurors. A brief flick through of his new Defence text book had told him that he wouldn't be learning anything useful at all in class that year if the Ministry had their say. He hadn't even needed to hear his Gran's furious rant about slipping standards and the Ministry having their heads up their collective arses. So he'd packed his parents' journals in the hope of being able to learn from them instead. It was his OWL year, after all, and despite what Harry said, Neville was pretty sure that it wouldn't be a walk in the park. After all, Harry was far stronger than Neville would ever be. Not that Neville particularly minded, though. He was happy being the one with more common sense.

Harry was planning on breaking into Gringotts.

Neville knew that he had been the one to suggest it. It made sense. If a Horcrux was so valuable then it would make sense to keep it in one of the safest places in the world, guarded by goblins, goblin magic, and dragons. No one in their right mind – though was Voldemort really in his right mind? – would keep something so important under a floorboard.

And even though Neville knew that Voldemort needed to be destroyed if the Wizarding world was ever going to progress, he still thought it was a bloody stupid thing to do. Harry had no clues, no way of researching anything beyond using Muggle records – which Neville doubted would be all that useful – he had nothing. At all. Nothing except a hunch that Voldemort had done the remarkably insane and created more than three of the damn things.

Neville was worried. Under the circumstances, he thought he had the right to be. His best friend was on some sort of suicide mission and thought it was okay. Well, sort of. Harry had admitted to being doomed, but he supposed that Harry had been doomed right from the start, what with his scar and Dumbledore and Voldemort, and all that.

Still, as he stared out of the window of the Hogwarts Express and watched Kings Cross vanish into the distance, he couldn't help but feel sad. He felt like something had come to an end. And, more morbidly, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see Harry again.

He sighed helplessly and sank down in his seat, cracking open his Potions text. He needed all the extra studying he could cram in for that subject. He had to admit that Snape's outright hatred of him mostly stemmed from the fact that he was the single most useless student to ever be herded into Snape's dungeon classroom. Well, that and he was a Gryffindor. Fate, it seemed, had conspired to make his Potions classes nothing short of outright torture. But that didn't mean that he couldn't win back some of his dismal marks – the result of Snape's terminal bad mood, sadistic nature, and Neville's unhealthy habit of making things explode – by brushing up on his theory. In fact, it was something of a necessity if he could even dream of passing his Potions OWL.

He refused to think of how much Harry had improved in the subject once he'd been freed of Snape's wrath. There was no point in comparing himself to Harry, not talent-wise, anyway. He would lose.

He had to stop thinking about Harry or he'd never get anything done.

Although, it was Harry who had given him his hardest task. Looking for a Horcrux! In Hogwarts! Never mind that the school had a million and a half rooms for him to search through; he didn't even know what a Horcrux looked like! Harry had seen ones in the forms of a book and a locket, and they were completely different.

"Mad," Neville muttered to himself, his gaze drifting over the recipe for the Draught of Living Death. "Absolutely puddled, that one."

Not that he was any better, agreeing to the plan in the first place. Yes, of course he would look for an object in a huge, cluttered castle filled with students. Of course he would. Anything to prevent Harry from having to break in if he ever managed to break in – and out – of Gringotts, or – as the case might be – Azkaban.

There was a soft knock on his compartment door, and Neville looked up in time to see Hermione poke her head in. She smiled at him nervously, and opened the door wider so that Ron could stand next to her in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" Neville asked them.

Ever since Harry had left Hogwarts, Neville had tried to avoid them as much as possible. They had badgered him for answers at every opportunity for the first few months until they had finally taken the hint that Neville didn't know where Harry was and that he didn't know when – if ever – that he would be back. Neville had told them, in a moment of anger, that one of the reasons why Harry had left was because of their incessant hounding, but he didn't even know that for sure.

Harry was his best friend, but he was a secretive bastard, and he refused point blank to discuss any of his reasons for leaving with Neville beyond a simple 'Dumbledore'. Neville didn't want to pry. He knew that there were things in Harry's life that he wouldn't be able to handle, and he knew that it was the same in reverse too. That's why he'd never mentioned his parents to Harry. He didn't want to be pitied, and he didn't want to see Harry shoulder the guilt for it, which Neville had a feeling he probably would. He did seem to feel awfully responsible for the actions of Voldemort and his followers. For what reason, Neville wasn't sure.

It was a Harry thing. One of many.

"Um, would you mind if we sat with you, Neville?" Hermione asked.

He sighed. He didn't really have any reason to say no to them. They hadn't actually done anything to hurt him at all. Just Harry.

"Sure," he said. "If you want."

Her smile widened with gratitude, and she slipped in to sit on the seat opposite. Ron moved to sit next to her, and his little sister Ginny followed. She perched on the seat next to Neville; not too close, though, as if she thought that he was going to bite her. He smiled at her pleasantly, before returning to his book. Adding belladonna made sense. It was a soporific, after all. But dried gecko hearts? What were the magical properties of those again?

Snape was going to poison him. Neville could see it coming. He'd somehow managed to completely avoid learning anything in Potions class for the last four years.

Oh hell.

"So what are you reading?" Hermione asked. A typical conversation starter on her part. He should have expected it really.

"The Potions book," he told her. "I'm never going to get the practical down, so I thought I should brush up on my theory. You know, so that I could have a chance at a passing grade."

She nodded approvingly. There were times when she reminded him strongly of McGonagall. A young, foolish and slightly pretentious McGonagall, but there were definite similarities.

"That's a really good idea, Neville," she said. He tried not to be offended by the surprised tone of her voice.

"I have them occasionally," he told her.

Her cheeks reddened, and she looked down at her lap. She was twisting her fingers together nervously, and he blinked. What on earth did she have to be nervous about?

"Yes, right," she said. "Of course. Um..."

She looked desperately at Ron. He simply shrugged and turned to stare moodily at the door. What on earth was going on?

"Are you alright?" Neville asked her.

"I," she started. She looked at Ron and Ginny again, before giving a little sigh. "I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Harry."

"Why?" Neville asked. "You fell out, right?"

"Not intentionally!" Hermione burst out. "Look, I know what we did was terrible, but we were just children. We didn't know what we were doing. I...I've been trying to get in contact with him to apologise, but all my owls return unopened. I was just...do you know if he's okay, at least?"

Neville shrugged, though he felt a pang of guilt. If what she was saying was true, then she'd grown up over the summer. She hadn't given the slightest hint of a change of heart during the second half of third year, or any of fourth year at all. Though judging from the mutinous expression on Ron's face, and Ginny's jumpiness, she was the only one of them who had. If it was true. It was pretty sudden, after all.

The part about owls was interesting, though. Harry hadn't mentioned receiving any owls from either Ron or Hermione. In fact, he rarely spoke about them at all. Neville supposed he was still hurt over what had happened between them.

"You aren't going to tell me, are you?" Hermione said.

"No," Neville replied. "It's not my place to report to you about him. Especially when it's that sort of behaviour that pissed him off in the first place."

"That's not fair," she said quietly.

"No," he admitted, "it's not. But you're a clever girl, Hermione. Surely you realised that the headmaster of a school shouldn't have that much interest in a single student."

"I thought it was because of his connection to You-Know-Who," Hermione said. "Harry's so famous, after all, and plenty of people show interest in him. I thought it was only natural that Professor Dumbledore would be curious about him. That he would want to make sure that Harry was safe, and consorting with the right kinds of people. I mean, it would have been terrible if Harry turned out like Malfoy."

"Yeah," Neville said. "One Draco Malfoy is quite enough. But Hermione, no matter how famous Harry is, Dumbledore didn't have the right to pay you to make friends with Harry and then spy on him."

"I know," she said. "I know that now. But...oh for goodness' sake, I was eleven! And I was thirteen when Harry found out! Just a kid. And Dumbledore's so powerful, so impressive. I was a little star struck to say the least."

Neville shrugged. "That's not my problem, is it?" he said.

She looked like she wanted to argue with him. He didn't blame her. He knew he was being incredibly rude, but he couldn't help it. She was renowned in the school for being the brightest witch of their age, and yet here she was acting like a complete moron and spouting a load of utter rubbish. Though, he supposed she had been star struck by Lockhart too, and he had been...well, 'useless' was putting it mildly.

He looked down at his book again. Hmm...Seriously, what were gecko hearts supposed to do?

"Hermione, give it a rest," Ron said, speaking up for the first time. "I told you Potter's probably forgotten all about him. It's not like he was all that close to Neville anyway, right?"

Neville raised an eyebrow, but didn't look up from his book. Ron really didn't have a high opinion of him, did he? Or of Harry, for that matter, if he could think that he would forget about anyone he called 'friend'. From what little Neville knew of Harry's past, he'd had precious few of them.

He had more now, apparently, though Neville hadn't met any of them. One, who Harry referred to as 'Lin', was particularly close to him. Neville thought Harry had some kind of a crush on the guy, but he wasn't daft enough to point that out. Harry, bless him, was terribly naive at times.

"But –" Hermione started.

"Come on, Hermione, we were his best friends! So what if there was a little misunderstanding, we still knew him better than anyone for three years! If he was going to contact anyone, it would be us."

Sometimes, Neville wondered if Ron was actually thicker than Crabbe and Goyle _separately_. It was well theorised that the two Slytherins could only think when they were together, as with both of them around their individual IQs added up to something resembling average. Either way, there were times when Neville held a sick sort of pity for Malfoy.

"Why the sudden interest, anyway?" he asked. "This must have been the first time you've even tried to talk to me about him since January in Third Year."

Ron, Hermione and Ginny all exchanged looks. Neville sighed. They looked significant. As his Gran would say "'bout as subtle with their secrets as an open diary; mind you never trust people like them".

"Haven't you been reading the _Prophet_ Neville?" Hermione asked.

"Not really," Neville lied. He did read it, even though he thought the newspaper was a load of rubbish; too bothered with sensationalism to report anything accurate or even remotely interesting. His Gran had it delivered, and most times the paper would end up lining the litter box after they were done reading through it and scoffing at the poor quality of the articles. Neville much preferred to keep to his Herbology and Defence academic journals.

Hermione wasn't the only person in Gryffindor with an interest in academics.

"There's been a lot of things about what really happened to Diggory during the Third Task," Hermione said, leaning in towards him. She had an intense look on her face, and there was a thoughtful little crease between her eyebrows. "There's been reports of strange disappearances too. Dumbledore's been saying that You-Know-Who's come back, but the Ministry and the Prophet have been saying that he's crazy. But...there's so many little things about their stories and the so-called investigations that don't add up."

"You think that the Ministry's covering something up," Neville surmised. He frowned. "But what's that got to do with Harry? He wasn't even around for the Triwizard Tournament." He knew exactly what it had to do with Harry, and he knew from Harry that Dumbledore was right in his suspicions, but he wasn't going to say it. It looked like this conversation with Hermione was going to reveal more about her change of heart than any of her questions about Harry or any direct questions from him could ever reveal.

"He's the only person in memory to have defeated You-Know-Who," Hermione said. "If He is back, like Dumbledore says, wouldn't Harry be in danger?"

"He would," Neville admitted. "But that theory involves trusting the headmaster, and from what happened in Third Year, I don't think Harry's about to do that any time soon."

Her frown deepened, and Ron scoffed. "He's an idiot then," Ron said.

Neville could have said something about pots, kettles and the colour black, but he held his tongue. It wouldn't do him any good.

He wondered if Harry knew Dumbledore was actively still after him.

The rest of the train journey passed in peace. Ron left, thankfully, quite early on to go and sit with Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. Apparently they were more entertaining than Neville – who was still determinedly studying – his sister, and Hermione. Ginny left too, a little later, to sit with some people from her own year, and when it was just the two of them left Hermione pulled out a book of her own and started to read.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say to each other. The only things that they had in common were their uniforms and an interest in the life and times of Harry Potter, though Hermione's interest was considerably less friendly than his own.

He shoved his book away when the train finally pulled in to Hogsmeade Station, feeling even more confused about Potions than ever. Lizard gizzards, snake fangs, leech juice, powdered moonstone...they all had magical properties of their own. All Potions ingredients did, and the way that they were individually prepared influenced that. But did Neville know how or why or what? No. Was Snape ever going to condescend to explain it? Like hell.

Neville left the train filled with a growing feeling of dread. Taking Divination and History of Magic into account, he was already set to fail three of his OWLs at the end of the year. And he had a seemingly impossible task looming before him.

There were times when Neville wished he was home-schooled.

The Welcoming Feast made Neville wish for that even harder, although he knew it was a lost cause. The Ministry had placed Umbridge in Hogwarts. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that Dumbledore would have hired the woman of his own free will, even if he was crazy.

"Thank you headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," the woman simpered. Neville cringed. Somehow, her voice managed to be pitched so that it grated across every single one of his nerves. Those few students in the hall who had non-human blood must have been near tears.

"The Ministry of Magic has become concerned recently with the standards of education, health and lifestyle within Hogwarts' walls. The Ministry is determined to boost these standards and ensure long and happy lives for all you children in the hopes that one day, you will all grow up to be fine, proper wizards and witches."

There were several disbelieving mutters. Umbridge ploughed on.

"It is my job to teach you how the wizards and witches that society needs should conduct themselves. While some old practises will be pruned; new and unhealthy growth will be stripped away."

Neville shuddered at the poor Herbology metaphor. Up at the head table, he saw Professor Sprout wince almost imperceptibly. None of the other teachers looked particularly happy either.

"It is the Ministry's belief that the detrimental practises being implemented within Hogwarts must be nipped in the bud –" apparently she was going to abuse the metaphor for all it was worth "– in order for our society to function and flourish.

"I'm looking forward to seeing all your little faces in my class. I think we'll all be great friends."

No one clapped. There were a few derisive snorts that went ignored, as Umbridge returned to her seat, but no applause.

"Thank you Madame Umbridge, for that illuminating speech," Dumbledore said. "Now, as –"

Neville tuned out the usual reminders about the Forbidden Forest living up to its name and Filch banning pretty much anything that could be construed as fun. His mind was still turning over Umbridge's speech. The Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts, and it was beginning to look like Hermione had been right. The Ministry was covering it up. Not only that, but the 'new and unhealthy growth' that needed stripping away sounded suspiciously like the Muggleborn traditions that were slowly filtering in to their society due to the Pureblood population's decline, to him. Someone at the Ministry was pushing for Pureblood superiority, and Neville had heard enough about Dolores Umbridge from his Gran to know that she would be backing the move one hundred percent.

He was so doomed. He'd rather be breaking into Gringotts with Harry than face a year under the supervision of Umbridge – there was always the hope that the 'curse' on the Defence job would kick in again – but he had no choice.

He had a job to do, and he was damn well going to do it.


	6. The Train

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** I'm alive! Sorry about that, everyone. University ate my life. Now that I have it back... This is kind of a short chapter, but it's necessary since it gets the Horcrux hunt where it needs to be. Also, the thing about the rail system? It's unfortunately based on reality. I am aware, by the way, that the British rail system is no longer run by GNER, but this story is set in the nineties that's what the company was then. So yeah. Merry Christmas everyone!

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Six

The Train

Riddle wasn't a common name.

Harry wasn't sure what he would have done if Voldemort's family name had been Smith, or something like that, but he was thankful that it wasn't. He was also thankful that the Riddle Murders – the 'mysterious' deaths of Tom Riddle Senior and his parents – were the favourite topic of several Muggle conspiracy theorists. The Ministry of Magic obviously couldn't have quelled the investigation into their deaths or the huge amount of gossip that they generated without someone noticing that things weren't quite right.

There were some cases where magic was fallible and a good Obliviate Charm – the Ministy's favourite method of dealing with this sort of thing – would cause more problems than it would solve.

So, in the end, it was easy to track Voldemort's heritage back to a small village ensconced in the wilds of North Yorkshire. The bigger problem was getting there.

Harry didn't want to use magical transport to get there. He didn't know what sort of protections Voldemort had set up – if any – and if magical transportation would set any of them off. He also didn't know the exact layout of the village or where any Horcruxes would be if there were any there. He wanted to be able to talk to the villagers about the Riddle Murders without coming off as either a creep or a conspiracy theorist, and he wanted the information he would get from them to be as accurate as possible.

His plan was simple. It was stupid, it was crazy and if Voldemort ever found out then it was potentially suicidal as well. But as the diary Horcrux had told him in the Chamber, they even looked "somewhat alike" – enough alike for him to call himself Tom Riddle and pretend to be Voldemort's grandson and get away with it.

The thought of doing it made him queasy, but it was a necessary evil. As was his decision to go by train, and unfortunately the rail link between London and York wasn't half as reliable as the Hogwarts Express.

The train hadn't moved in ten minutes. The speakers crackled, and a somewhat embarrassed voice sounded throughout the carriage. "Ladies and gentlemen, GNER apologise for the delay caused by the wrong kind of leaves on the track. Again, we are sorry for the delay, but as soon as the line is cleared we will be on our way."

"Leaves," he muttered. "What the…"

Harry sighed and returned to his book. It was about the use of Parselmagic in Wards, and obscure didn't even begin to cover it. He'd deliberately brought it to read on the train to make sure that he actually read it, because his other option was staring out of the window at fields and cows and the rain.

Actually, he could also have been watching Linael sleep, since the Drow was sitting opposite him, slumped over against the window and snoring lightly, but every time he did his stomach would start fluttering uncomfortably. Besides, Linale's current choice of glamour was slightly disconcerting. He was pretending to be a girl, and he was carrying it off bizarrely well. He had kept his bone structure the same, since he looked feminine enough anyway, but he had lightened his skin to a pale cream and darkened his hair to gold instead of silver. Small, pert breasts strained against the blue material of his T Shirt and tight jeans clung to curves that shouldn't have been there.

The glamour was flawless, but in the grey morning light, Harry thought he could see that golden hair shimmering the colour of starlight.

And he _wasn't_ staring.

Linael had been the only one to come with him. Aurora and Tiberius hadn't fit in with the cover story, and the need to travel in daylight meant that Nikolai and Isabella couldn't come either. Seraphina hadn't volunteered, and Harry hadn't wanted her to. So that had left Linael – as, everyone had agreed, Harry shouldn't go alone – as his companion.

Not that Harry was complaining. He liked Linael. He liked spending time with him.

It was just that morning wasn't exactly Linael's time of day and he'd fallen asleep as soon as they'd got on the train, leaving Harry to the company of his book. His obscure, difficult and actually fairly boring book – it should have been interesting, Harry thought, and the fact that it wasn't was both an injustice to the subject and anyone with even a passing interest in the subject.

Linael looked really very pretty as a girl, even though the thought of it made Harry's brain want to explode. But he wasn't staring, so that was okay.

Okay, so maybe he was staring, but his book was boring and the little shadows created by Linael's eyelashes on his cheekbones were far more interesting. He'd never noticed them before.

He lowered his gaze to his book again. The words swam in front of his eyes, turning from the illegible scribbles of written Parseltongue to something that he could understand. _The addition of Parsel Runes to a basic Warding array using the Old Futhark will strengthen the resulting Ward exponentially. This holds true with every Warding array to which Parsel Runes are added, however it is not a common addition due to both the general lack of Parselmouths and their negative reputation in European society. _It was nothing Harry hadn't already been able to figure out for himself.

He sighed. He should have brought a better book. But the subject was interesting even if the book wasn't, and he'd hoped that it would take his mind off what he was about to do. He supposed that pretending to be related to Voldemort was easier than trying to break into Gringotts, but it still made him uncomfortable. There was always the chance that his act wouldn't convince anyone, and he'd end up looking like a fool and alienating the villagers whose gossip he so needed to hear.

And what if there wasn't anything in Little Hangleton? What if this was all just a wild goose chase and he found nothing? What if Voldemort had enough common sense to not hide a part of his soul in a place he had such an obvious connection with?

He was reassured only slightly by the fact that wizards, as a general whole, had very little common sense or logic. Voldemort had been a genius – and insane one, but a genius all the same – so there was still a chance that Harry was wrong and that he was going to look in the wrong place and…

"And what the hell kind of leaves were they talking about anyway?" he muttered to himself as he forced his doubts away. "How can they put up with this?"

The Hogwarts Express was delayed by nothing. His train still wasn't moving.

He had been ready to leave the day before; ready to get it all over with, but Tiberius had stopped him with a short reminder that it probably wasn't the best idea for him to go to King's Cross on the first of September. After all, what if he ran into someone that recognised him? Someone that would report to Dumbledore that they'd seen him and alert him to the fact that Harry was up to something. That was the last thing Harry wanted, so he'd agreed to put it off for an extra day. But now the added delay of leaves – of all things! – was making him antsy and claustrophobic.

"Why aren't we moving?"

Linael sounded wrong. His voice was glamoured to be higher pitched and girlish, and while it was still fairly musical and there were a few similarities between it and Linael's real voice, it sounded alien coming from him. Harry looked up at him, and saw currently pale blue eyes staring back at him in concern.

"There's, um, the wrong kind of leaves on the track," he said. "They've got to clear them before we can get going again."

Linael blinked at him. "Humans put up with this?" he asked, unconsciously mirroring Harry's earlier thoughts with his question. Harry grinned, despite himself, and felt the tension in his stomach relax.

"Yeah," he said. "But not well."

He jerked his head towards the table across the aisle, where a man in a business suit was complaining loudly into a mobile phone. He was probably speaking to his secretary. Linael caught Harry's eye and grinned back. The light pink lip gloss that his glamour wore shone in the light and Harry stared in fascination at the way that it made his already full lips seem even fuller.

Linael as a girl was weird. It was disjointedly, world-shifting-ly weird.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Linael asked. His smile looked less amused now, and instead looked more gentle. The sight of it did funny things to Harry's insides.

"Um, yeah," he said. He squirmed awkwardly in his seat. "I just want to get off the train, that's all."

"Mm," Linael agreed, though it didn't sound like he really believed him.

Harry frowned. "I just want this over with," he said.

"I know," Linael replied. "But you shouldn't be so impatient. You'll ruin your act."

"We aren't even there yet!" Harry protested.

"I know," Linael said. "But Harry, if you lose patience with you act now, and give up and want it over, then do you think that you'll have the patience to pull it off convincingly when we do, eventually, get there?"

Harry sighed. "No," he said.

Linael reached out across the table and touched Harry's hand gently. Harry felt his stomach tighten again, and for a moment he wondered if he was going to throw up, until he realised that it was an oddly…pleasant sensation. He looked up, right into Linael's eyes, and saw that he had dropped just enough of his glamour to let them shine gold.

"You'll be fine," Linael promised. "You'll do fine, and once it's done you'll be one step closer to finishing Voldemort off forever."

Harry smiled and turned his hand over, catching Linael's long fingers with his own. "How did you get to be so patient?" he asked. He felt shy, he realised, which was stupid because he'd known Linael for years.

Linael grinned at him again and replaced his glamour. "It comes with relative immortality," he said. "You spend enough time alive, and you realise that time speeds up for no one and nothing." He laughed softly. "You'll get there one day. In a thousand years or so…"

Harry laughed. "I hate you," he said.

"I'm sure you do," Linael said, and looked pointedly down at where their hands were still entwined on the table top. Harry blushed and pulled away. Linael laughed at him, and suddenly the book Harry had been neglecting was ten times more fascinating.

"Bastard," he muttered.


	7. Little Hangleton

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** Yeah...this took a while. My excuse is having a life? Finishing my year abroad, moving back to England, hunting for a job and trying to settle back into my old life wasn't the easiest thing to do, but now it's done and I have time to write again. I also have a lot more inspiration for this, and after this chapter the action is really going to pick up. So enjoy!

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Seven

Little Hangleton

Little Hangleton was a tiny village that hadn't changed in centuries. It sat nestled in a valley on the east coast of England just thirty miles south of York, and yet home to a small close-knit community. It was the type of village where everyone knew everyone else and gossip was rife. Outsiders were noticed immediately. In short, it was the epitome of an idyllic English country town: almost stereotypical really. And as in every tiny country village, the hub of that gossip and intrigue was the local pub: The Hanged Man.

It was a pretty morbid name for a pub, Harry thought, which was slightly eerie considering whose parents had come from there. The pub itself wasn't that terrible, though. It felt like a proper pub, with its scrubbed wooden floors, mismatched furniture, and the low clouds of cigarette smioke obscuring the lighting. The well-stocked bar was tended by a plump middle aged man and a willowy girl with long dyed black hair and a metal bar through her eyebrow. She'd offered Harry a shy smile as he'd entered, but had backed off when she'd seen Linael in his female glamour. That was fair enough, Harry supposed. He was there for business and the only people he was really interested in talking to were considerably older than the bar maid.

It was easy to get a hold of them too. Asking to stay in one of the guest rooms above the pub and booking it under the name Tom Riddle was something that got a lot of attention very quickly. It really did help, though, that Harry's human appearance looked similar enough to a teenaged Voldemort - as admitted by the diary Horcrux itself – to make it plausible.

Actually playing off on the similarities made his skin crawl, but there wasn't much choice. From what he'd heard, the villagers were wary of newcomers: especially those looking into the Riddle House murders. They tended, as a general rule, to be conspiracy theorists. Pretending to actually be related to the Riddles, though, would open doors.

It _had_ opened doors.

Just two hours after their arrival in the village, Harry and Linael found themselves ensconced in a table booth, comfortably seated on a padded leather bench, listening to one of the village's oldest and most hardened gossips giving the Riddle family tree the once over.

"Tom Riddle was your great grandfather, you say?" one of the gossips said. She was a woman called Doris who had dyed her grey hair dark brown in an attempt to look younger, despite the fact that she was clearly old enough to remember the Riddles before they had been murdered. She fixed her gaze on Harry and sucked on the butt of her cigarette, leaving a bright pink lipstick stain behind. Her Yorkshire accent was almost thick enough to be incomprehensible, but Harry forced himself not to give up on translating it. Doris was, apparently, a veritable mine of information.

"Yeah, he was," Harry replied. "Grandad didn't know much about him, apparently. He left great-gran before she had the baby."

Oh yeah, Voldemort was definitely going to kill him if he ever found out about this. Harry was willing to bet that there would be a considerable amount of torture first, too.

"Aye, you've got a bit of Riddle about you, boy," Doris said. "It's the nose. A handsome lot, they were, especially that great granddad of yours. Tom Riddle. Aye, it was a shock when he ran off with that Gaunt girl. Not that they lasted long, of course. He came right back two years later muttering about witchcraft."

"Witchcraft?" Harry prompted as she took a sip of her gin and tonic.

"Claimed that Gaunt girl bewitched him," Doris went on. "Load of rot, although…you got to wonder why he ran off with her in the first place is it wasn't. She wasn't much of a looker, that girl. All googly eyes and a hunch. Not much brains to speak of either. Badly treated by her family, mind. Her brother and her father – no mother – and both of them went to prison. Crazy the lot of them, too. Gave me the creeps sure enough. They lived in a shack down the other side of the hill. Didn't mix much with the villagers, like, but when they did… Creepy. Inbred, I'd imagine. Kept going on about ancestry and pure blood and what not, but I never seen a bigger bunch of freaks than them."

Harry glanced at Linael, who nodded slightly. An obsession with pure blood was pretty much a guarantee that they were dealing with wizards, and since Voldemort was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin…it was not wonder that that family would put a greater price on purity than others.

"They're all dead now, though. The girl never came back from where she ran off to with Riddle, the son died in prison they say, and the father just wasted away after he got out. He didn't have his daughter to take care of him, see. Old Marvolo Gaunt. Nasty piece of work, that man."

"Marvolo," Harry murmured.

Doris looked up at him curiously. He coughed. "Grandad always said he was named Tom for his father and Marvolo for his grandfather," he said.

Doris nodded and took another drag of her cigarette. She blew the smoke out slowly, and Harry saw Linael wrinkle his nose slightly. It made him look absolutely adorable when combined with the glamour he was wearing. Harry averted his gaze. He couldn't let himself get distracted.

"Didn't think there'd been a child involved," Doris said. "And no offense to your great-gran, but she wasn't the type Tom Riddle would have touched usually. You know what happened to her?"

"She died in childbirth," Harry said. "Um, there were complications. She lived long enough to name Grandad and that's it."

It had definitely been unintentional, but the memory of Tom Riddle held in the diary had given enough information in his monologue that Harry was actually able to pull this charade off, despite how uncomfortable it was making him. He sipped his Coke and tried to ignore the way Linael leaned in to ask Doris a question and the way that his currently blonde hair shimmered in the low lighting.

"You said the Riddles were murdered," he said. "Did they ever catch who did it?"

Doris laughed. "The killer got off," she said. "Frank Bryce, the gardener. Police said there wasn't enough evidence for a conviction, but we all know he did it. Had the nerve of moving back in to the groundsman's lodge once they let him go, and he stayed there. Kept tending the grounds as if he hadn't done anything. Spooky what happened to him, though."

"What do you mean?" Linael asked.

"He was found dead in the Riddle House just a year ago. Died the same way the Riddles did: nothing wrong with him except that look of fear on his face. Spooky. It actually brought the owner of that place down here. Never seen him before, but everyone knows he keeps the old place for tax purposes. Don't know what sort of taxes he deals with, but you never know with these property types. Funny old man, he is. The owner, I mean. Funny name too."

Suspicion bloomed in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"What was he called?" he asked, trying to sound as if he didn't already know.

"Albus Dumbledore, I think," she said. "Aye, that was it. It's hard to forget a name like that."

"That was informative," Linael said from where he was sprawled over the double bed. He'd dropped his glamour, and the female appearance he'd been wearing all day had vanished completely leaving starlit hair and dark skin and golden eyes behind in its wake. Harry felt relived. Linael looked right again. He looked like himself, though slightly surreal in comparison to the décor.

They'd retired to their rented room. The sun had set, and Harry didn't exactly want to investigate creepy shacks belonging to the Slytherin family after dark. Call him suspicious, but doing something like that was just asking for trouble in his opinion.

He grunted in agreement to Linael's comment and flopped down next to him on the flowery bed spread. The room was hideously decorated with lace and pink flowers and doilies on every available surface. It was actually quite a surprise: the barman hadn't looked like the type. The bed was comfy enough, though.

"Dumbledore," he muttered. "Does he really have to put his nose into _everything_?"

"Apparently so," Linael said, "though you didn't seem too surprised."

"Doris liked my acting," Harry huffed. He rolled onto his stomach so that he could look at Linael properly. "She appreciated it."

Linael just stared at him. Harry grinned.

"I wasn't," he admitted. "As soon as she mentioned that the place had a mysterious new owner I just knew."

Linael reached up and trailed his fingers tenderly down Harry's cheek. "Put him out of your mind for now," he said. "There's only so much you can do at once, and for now you have to focus on these Horcruxes. Dumbledore is not actively trying to kill you, after all."

"Right," Harry agreed. "He just wants to use me."

"And he won't," Linael replied. "We won't let him. But Voldemort is your immediate priority and should remain so."

"I know."

Linael smiled at him. "Good," he said softly. "Now get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Knowing Harry's luck, it would be a lot longer than they had originally hoped.


	8. Gaunt

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ and I'm making no profit from this story.

**AN:** I've had some plot bunnies recently as to what to write after this story is done. There's the series of oneshots for _Serpens_ that I haven't started yet, but...hm. What would you think about a time-travel fic with a difference and a _very_ Slytherin Harry?

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Eight

Gaunt

The old Gaunt place was a tiny, run-down shack half buried in the woods that surrounded Little Hangleton. There was an overgrown path leading off the main road that twisted up to the front door, which hung pathetically off its hinges. It was hideous, and lonely looking. Harry couldn't imagine what it would have been like to live there, let alone grow up among relatives who hated you and villagers who looked down on you. He pitied Merope Gaunt. Her son had grown into a monster, yes, but it hadn't been her fault. He couldn't blame her at all for wanting to get out.

"Rosemary," Linael said suddenly, stopping at the roadside and plucking a sprig from one of the plants that lined the boundary of the property. "It protects."

Harry looked up at him curiously. He was wearing that female glamour again, but the shadows that fell from the trees made him almost look like himself.

"Part of the ward line?" he asked.

Linael shook his head. "It probably was originally," he said. "Undoubtedly, there was a member of the family interested in herb-lore, though I doubt Lord Voldemort had any regard for it. It's not very commonly taught among wizards."

The unsaid "but it is among Fae" hung between them, and Harry understood. There were so many branches of magic out there that it was mind boggling. That wizards and witches restricted themselves to such a few of them was terrible in a way. Old magic, and old ways of life were dying out because of laziness and misunderstanding.

"The plants won't hurt you, dear," Linael said, sensing Harry's mood. He grinned playfully.

"Ah, so you were just showing off then," Harry replied, smiling back. "Prat."

The shack wasn't very well protected at all. Voldemort had, it seemed, been partially relying on the fact that no one in their right mind would want to go near the place anyway. But that wasn't to say that it wasn't protected at all. Wards clung to the rotting wood, holding the building up and giving it an even more sinister air. Harry pulled his wand from up his sleeve and prodded at them. They glowed, visible in daylight for a split second, and he grimaced.

"They're blood wards," he said unenthusiastically. "Yay."

From the moment Lily Potter was supposed to have done something to protect him from the Killing Curse, blood magic had been instrumental in making his life difficult. Dumbledore had placed him with the Dursleys because of it; Quirrell was supposed to have died because of it; Voldemort had warded his mother's house with it. Harry wasn't entirely sure that Dumbledore had been right in his assumption that blood magic was the reason for everything and that it was absolutely reliable in all cases all the time, but that didn't mean that it hadn't made things difficult.

"That's not all," Linael said.

As Harry turned to look at him, Linael reached for the threshold, only for electric blue sparks to spray outwards and fizzle on his skin. His glamour dropped, and he lowered his hand. "Cold iron," he replied. "It was probably placed here when the family originally came to the area. I won't be able to go in." He looked at Harry seriously, gold eyes shining slightly in the light. It was weird, Harry thought, how Linael looked right against the background of trees and shrubs. He shouldn't have blended in at all, but he did. "The blood wards shouldn't be a problem for you."

"Unless they're really picky and don't accept fourth cousins, twice removed, who happen to be magical creatures," Harry pointed out. "And while we're on that note, why would a descendant of Slytherin nail a snake's head to the door?"

The fragile, bleached bone pinned to the door with a rusted nail had been bothering him almost as much as the blood magic.

"Madness," Linael said. "You heard what the villagers said about the family that lived here."

Harry had, and he understood. He grimaced and nodded. There had been too much inbreeding in that branch of the family tree, apparently. Whether or not it had had a particular effect on Voldemort was debatable, but he was pretty sure that the genetic insanity had helped transform him into the poster child for sociopaths.

"Keep an eye out for me then," he said. "I'll try to get it over with as soon as I can."

Linael nodded. "Good luck," he said.

Harry smiled faintly. "Thanks," he said, and he turned back to the shack. It looked just as unwelcoming as it had the last time he'd looked at it. He shrugged, and with his wand at the ready, he pushed the door open. The wards didn't react. Harry felt his eyes burn yellow, but this time he didn't bother to close any of the protective lids. Anything that was alive in there would meet the venomous gaze head on.

He stepped in carefully. The wooden floorboards were rotten through in some places and sagging in others. He took another step, and another, and then released the door. It creaked back, but didn't close properly.

"Here cursey, cursey, cursey," Harry mumbled under his breath. He hadn't been attacked or hindered in the slightest so far, and the ease of it was making him paranoid. There was no response. The only sounds were Harry's harsh breathing and the creak of the floorboards under his weight.

"Okay," he said. "If I was an unmitigated psycho, where would I hide the key to my immortality?"

Not the walls, they were too obvious, as were the battered, broken bits of furniture. The floor was too unstable. Slowly, Harry turned his gaze upwards.

Inhuman eyes stared back down at him. He yelped, jumped backwards, and slammed back into the wall. The whole shack groaned but didn't collapse. The spell-wraith wound downwards from a suspiciously clean patch on the ceiling. It coiled over and over itself until it was level with Harry's face. Its eyes were red fire set in a face of ash-coloured smoke. It was creepy as hell, and apparently unaffected by his stare.

Harry's teeth felt slick against his tongue. It had shocked him into producing venom.

"_Password?_" the wraith hissed in Parseltongue.

Harry blinked. Voldemort had password-protected his Horcrux? Was he for real? Of course, no one but a Parselmouth would be able to tell, but all the same. Had Voldemort really thought he was the only Parselmouth out there?

Apparently he wasn't as smart as Harry gave him credit for.

"_Voldemort_," Harry replied, also in Parseltongue. The wraith stared at him. Then, it opened its mouth and red-black fire spewed out. Harry yelped and ducked, dodging out of the way as fast as he could. The floor groaned and the wall he'd been standing in front of burst into flame.

Apparently Voldemort was also less arrogant than Harry had thought.

"_Gaunt!_" he tried again, only to get another mouthful of fire. It was Fiendfyre, too. Shit. There was no way to put it out, and if he kept getting things wrong then he'd be stuck. "_Slytherin!_" More fire. "_Heir of Slytherin! Basilisk! Lord Voldemort, Snake King! High Poobah of Evil!_"

He wasn't getting anywhere. He waved his wand at the spell-wraith. "Aguamenti!" Apparently that just pissed it off as the jet of fire he got for that one put the others to shame. He heard one of the windows explode. "Oh, fuck this!" he snarled. "_Horcrux!_"

The spell-wraith looked at him. Then, its smoky body coiled back up into the ceiling and vanished, leaving Harry alone in a spreading inferno. He coughed and covered his mouth and nose with the long sleeve of his T Shirt. He stared up at the ceiling with stinging eyes, and, with a flourish of his wand, cast the spell that would bring the whole shack crashing down around him. "Bombarda!"

Greying, mould-covered plaster exploded, showering him with dust and dirt. The fire crackled and hissed, and Harry could feel his chest growing tight. Then, through the coils of the returning spell-wraith, he saw a box fall from the middle of the ceiling. He darted forward, dodging another yet another blast of fire, and grabbed it. He stumbled, clutching it to his chest, and the floor cracked. He felt the floorboard he was standing on shudder and splinter and give under his weight. He threw himself forward, away from the crumbling floor and the furious spell-wraith, and sprinted towards the door. He didn't care about the floor or the ceiling caving in anymore, just as long as it didn't happen with him inside.

He burst through the door, clutching the box, trying desperately to breathe, and collapsed to the ground as soon as he was free of the ward boundaries.

"Harry?" he heard a voice say. "Harry!"

He closed his protective eyelids, and looked up. Linael was there, back under his glamour, staring down at him in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I…yeah," Harry said. "I just…the fire…it…"

"What fire?" Linael asked. Harry stared at him in confusion. "Harry, there is no fire."

Harry turned back to the shack. It had caved in, yeah, but there were no flames licking at the walls. It just looked even more dilapidated than before, as if nature had finally taken over and allowed it to die.

"But, there was a spell-wraith," he said. "It made me guess a password and kept shooting Fiendfyre at me until I got it right. It was burning, I could feel it, I…"

Linael's hands were gentle as they brushed his hair away from his face. "Your eyes do seem irritated," he said softly. "Perhaps…an illusion of fire? One that would burn anyone caught in it to death."

"Is that even possible?" Harry asked incredulously, rewriting his opinion of Voldemort's intelligence yet again.

Linael shrugged. "Apparently," he said. He helped Harry up slowly. Harry's knees felt like jelly, and he had to cling to Linael for support, but he managed it. Linael's arm was strong and firm and he clutched at it desperately, ignoring the way that his wand dug uncomfortably into his fingers.

He rested his head against Linael's shoulder. "Can't wait to break into Gringotts," he said. "After this it'll be a cinch."

Linael laughed softly, and Harry felt long fingers tangle in his hair. He suddenly felt relaxed. The muscles down the length of his spine loosened and he leaned into Linael's warm body.

"You got it then?" Linael asked.

Harry pulled the box away from his chest and held it up. Slowly, Linael guided him over to a tree and sat down under it, pulling Harry down with him so that his back was pressed to Linael's chest. It felt nice, Harry thought. It felt safe.

He set the box down on the ground and opened it. There, wrapped in spells that tasted purely of evil and supported in a bed of black velvet, lay a ring.

Harry stared. Then, unable to stop himself, he burst out laughing.


	9. A Peaceful Interlude

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** Is this an update? OMFG, I actually think it is – a short one, but there nontheless. I have no excuse, save RL business and a lack of inspiration. But then I actually got inspiration last night and was like 'holy crap, I have to write this'. But unfortunately, you can't really switch your laptop on and start typing at three in the morning in an eight-bed dorm without at least one of your roommates slitting your throat so I had to wait. But honestly, after such a long hiatus, would anyone except me have noticed that?

Um, I won't make promises, but hopefully the next update will come a little sooner?

* * *

Serpens Arcanem

by Evandar

Chapter Nine

A Restful Interlude

The ring was destroyed almost as easily as the locket. Almost. Because while the gold setting had twisted and melted and corroded into nothing, the gem it had held was intact. Harry studied it closely, holding it up to the light that filtered in through the leaves. He and Linael hadn't moved from their place at the edge of the Gaunt property, nestled at the base of a tree, since Harry had taken the ring Horcrux out of the shack.

The stone was simply cut, though it had a small crack running through its centre. It was black, and when Harry twisted it around in the light, it seemed to absorb rather than reflect the sun's rays. It was also resistant to his venom, despite the fact that Harry knew stone _would_ corrode when smeared by the thick, yellow substance – the corridor outside of Dumbledore's office was testament to that.

The air around it tasted funny, too. Harry couldn't quite put a name on how, though. He flickered his tongue out again and again, tasting the air, but couldn't put his finger on exactly what was strange. He just knew that he'd tasted that strangeness before somewhere. He also knew – somewhat reassuringly – that the evil taste of Voldemort's Horcrux had been destroyed with the setting. Apparently the soul fragment had only been anchored to the gold rather than the whole ring.

Personally, Harry thought that was kind of weird. But since he couldn't readily destroy the stone, he wasn't going to complain about it. Rather, he just wanted to know how on earth a creepy and not-that-attractive stone was resistant to the acid in his venom.

"Any clue?" he asked.

Linael plucked the stone from his fingers and held it between his own, rolling it slightly from side to side. "None," he said. The vibrations of his voice thrummed through Harry's back, reminding him that he was still resting against the Drow's chest – but not really motivating him to move. "I do know that it isn't wizard magic, but its exact nature is beyond me."

"'Not wizard' doesn't really narrow it down, though," Harry complained. He knew he sounded slightly whiny, but he didn't care. Instead he turned in Linael's loose embrace so that they could speak face to face.

It was a mistake. As always, when he was so close to Linael, he was briefly struck by just how stunning the other being was. He could see every pale eyelash, and glimmering flecks of amber in golden eyes. He looked weary; temporarily changing from being nocturnal couldn't be easy, but the tiredness that lined his features somehow only made him more attractive – it made him seem more real, Harry decided after a moment's staring. He swallowed convulsively and tried not to look as nervous as he suddenly felt. He'd rather be facing off against the spell wraith again than sitting where he was, so close and warm in the arms of his dearest friend. He scooted away slightly and Linael let him – though the bastard looked like he thought Harry's reaction was hilarious.

"It doesn't," Linael replied, as if nothing had changed. "However that is all I can tell you for now. I'm not sure if little black stones have any significance in the mythology up here." He shook his head, and strands of starlit hair fell briefly over his face before he brushed them impatiently away again. "This is not a product of any of the Sidhe, either. I'm sure of that. It has none of the…glamour. So it must be from this world."

That, Harry supposed, was true – and fairly obvious at that. Any creator of Sidhe descent wouldn't have permitted anything like that crack to mar their work. His curiosity was struck by Linael's mention of different worlds, but he swallowed his questions. He didn't want to seem like a child, asking questions about Faerieland – though Linael never referred to his home quite like that – instead of focussing on other things.

He took the stone back, shivering as his fingers brushed the Drow's own, and slipped it into his pocket. Hunting Horcurxes was more important.

"We should go," he said.

…

They didn't take the train back to London. One experience with Muggle transport had been more enough for them to cope with. Instead, after collecting their few things from their room in The Hanged Man and heading off out of Little Hangleton in the direction of the station, Linaal had dragged him into a shadowed lane and transported them both straight back to the hostel.

All of the rooms in Last Hope Hostel were laid out in roughly the same way – a large bed, a wardrobe and dressing table, a bedside cabinet, a bookcase, and a door that led to an ensuite bathroom. The only real way to tell the difference between them was by décor and the personal effects of the current occupants. Harry's room was painted in Slytherin-ish colours, but done with a light stylishness that the Slytherin common room – with its dark wood features, stone floors, and heavy tapestries – couldn't compare to. His bookcase was filled with books stolen from the Chamber of Secrets, and a statuette of his lamia ancestress sat proudly on the bedside cabinet.

Linael's room, on the other hand, was painted like the sky at twilight. He'd also swapped out the dressing table for a desk at some point, and Harry noted with amusement that it was completely covered with parchment – and that stacks of paper were neatly piled on the floor next to it. Tidiness wasn't the Drow's forte. There was more parchment on the bed as well, and as soon as they had arrived, Linael dropped Harry's hand and headed towards it. His sleep pattern had been forcibly changed over the past few days, and Harry was under no illusions as to how tired his friend was from being awake during the day time.

The Drow didn't undress or push the parchment on his bed aside. Instead he just folded up his long limbs and curled into a ball in what free space there was left.

"You will tell Tiberius that we've returned?" he murmured. His eyes were already closed.

"Yeah," Harry replied. His hand reached out of its own accord and smoothed Linael's shimmering hair back from his forehead, tucking long strands of it behind a pointed ear. Linael shuddered as Harry's fingers brushed lightly against the pointed tip, but he said nothing.

"Sleep well," Harry said, pulling his hand away. His throat felt oddly dry.

What on earth was happening to him?

…

He found Tiberius in the bookshop. The old man was writing in his ledger, balancing the shop's accounts. As a rare bookseller in Knockturn Alley, he did do good business, particularly amongst those with interest in the Darker sides of magic – the bookshop was well stocked with such tomes. He was also popular for his willingness to give discounts to those who would treat the books with respect, and somehow Tiberius could always tell which people those were. Harry had no idea how – the old man hadn't shared that particular secret yet.

"You're back, then?" Tiberius said, not looking up. He hadn't mentioned how he could do that, either, but Harry didn't mind. Running a hostel inhabited by non-human beings would make extra-sensitive senses pretty damn useful – Harry knew that he appreciated his own.

"Yes," he said. "We got it."

"What form did it take?" Tiberius lowered his quill and Harry stepped closer. He perched casually on the edge of the counter and looked at the numbers upside down. They were making a good profit.

"A ring," he said, unable to stop himself from grinning. He'd laughed himself silly when he'd first opened the box it had been kept it – Neville's comment about taking Tolkien too seriously ringing in his ears – and the thought still amused him despite the strangeness of the stone.

"The family ring, I think," he continued. "It would make sense, knowing what I do about Voldemort. He was obsessed with his magical bloodline." He slipped his hand into his pocket and removed the stone, placing it on the ledger. "It was set with this, but my venom couldn't destroy it. It wasn't part of the Horcrux, so that's okay, I guess, but Linael said that the magic on this thing wasn't wizard or Sidhe."

Tiberius picked it up and studied it closely before shaking his head. "I'd have to look into it."

Harry shrugged. "It's probably not all that important – certainly not when it comes to getting rid of Voldemort – but I'm curious. I think Lin is too, but he didn't say it."

"I'm surprised he's still awake enough to say anything," Tiberius muttered, lifting the strange stone up to the light. It absorbed the artificial light of the shop just as it did sunlight. Harry grimaced slightly. That thing freaked him out.

"He's not. He passed out when we got here," he said. He hopped back off the desk and snagged the stone back from Tiberius, slipping it back into his pocket. "I'm going to give Aurora a hand in the kitchen, okay?"

Tiberius nodded, his grey eyes shining with mirth and a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Expect to be smothered then," he said. "Seraphina left, and with you and Linael gone she's had definite empty nest issues."

"Seraphina left?" Harry can't help but be surprised by that. Even though she had been edgy around them since telling them of the horcruxes and Regulus Black, he hadn't expected her to leave. "Where did she go?"

Tiberius' smile faded. "She didn't say," he said. "She's convinced we're all going to get ourselves killed so she decided to go." He sighed softly and shook his head. "Part of me doesn't blame her. This is dangerous."

"But it's worth it," Harry protested.

"I know that. You know that. But she lost too much to those things and to Voldemort to even really contemplate him being truly defeated." He smiled again, as if trying to reassure himself. "Despair does funny things to people, Harry. That's why Azkaban is so great a punishment."

"Right," Harry said. "So…cooking. Yeah."

Tiberius chuckled and picked up his quill again. "Have fun."


	10. Deal with the Devil

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** Told you it wasn't abandoned. I have no excuses beyond a) lack of inspiration, and b) Blaise is hard to write.

For updates, fic previews, and RL inanity, you can now find me on Twitter under the username hikarievandar.

Serpens Arcanem

Chapter Ten

Deal with the Devil

The rumour mill at Hogwarts was always working. Stories would spread within minutes and it was guaranteed that if something happened in the morning, everyone would have heard about it by lunch. For the most part, it was fairly reliable as long as a certain amount of common sense was exercised – while so-and-so may have broken up with his girlfriend, it probably hadn't been because he'd caught her with half the Slytherin Quidditch team.

The rumour mill also happened to focus selectively on some people more than others. Harry had, of course, been one of its favourites during the two and a half years he'd attended Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory had been another. McLaggan – an older Gryffindor boy – was a frequent topic, as were Cho Chang, Eloise Midgen (for less flattering reasons), Draco Malfoy, and Blaise Zabini.

While most of those people gained infamy through exploits, misfortune, or good looks, Blaise Zabini gained it through being a complete unknown. He was admittedly extremely handsome, with his long inky curls and dark skin and liquid-black eyes; he was intelligent too, repeatedly scoring higher marks than Hermione Granger, but beyond that he was something of a mystery.

Everyone knew Draco Malfoy's favourite colour was pale blue and that he preferred Earl Grey tea (to the point of no other type of tea at all, thank you), and that he had a tendency to slip into rural west-country dialect if he got angry enough. Everyone knew that McLaggan preferred to practise with Muggleborns despite his family being (publically) pro-acceptance, and that when he went hunting with his relatives and people high-up in the Ministry he preferred to use Muggle weapons to his wand.

It was not that way with Blaise Zabini. No one seemed to know what he even sounded like. But that didn't stop them from talking. In fact, if rumour was to be believed, Blaise Zabini – son of the Black Widow – was some sort of insane genius hellbent on world domination by the time that he reached thirty. Neville wasn't entirely sure that he believed it. After all, world domination surely required more networking than Zabini had ever been seen to do. After four-and-a-bit years of being in the same classes, Neville had yet to hear the other boy speak.

So it was, in his opinion, completely understandable for him to be surprised when Zabini touched his arm on their way out of Potions class.

"May I have a word, Longbottom?" he asked. He sounded utterly calm, as if his talking in public wasn't a revolutionary experience for everyone in earshot, and his voice was surprisingly deep for someone of his short, slender build.

Neville gaped at him for a moment. Then, from nowhere, his own ability to speak resurfaced and he said "yeah, okay" before he could think better of it.

Zabini nodded and, without a backwards glance, started walking off down the corridor. Neville took that as his cue to follow and set off after him, still in something of a daze.

Ron hissed at him as he passed. "He's a snake, Neville. What are you doing?" Neville shook his head and walked past him, not dignifying that with a response. An almost feline curiosity had started to take over, and nothing Ron Weasley could say would stop him from finding out why Blaise Zabini had broken almost five years of silence to talk to him.

He was a Gryffindor, after all.

…

The classroom that Zabini led him to had been abandoned long ago. It had, judging from the lurid purple stains on the floor and walls and remaining furniture, once been a Potions classroom before it had fallen into disuse. Neville had never set foot in it before – he hadn't even known it had been there – and not for the first time, he felt the magnitude of the task Harry had set him weighing down on him. He took a few deep breaths to try and shake the growing feeling of dread in his stomach and focussed all his attention on Zabini instead.

"What was it you wanted?" he asked. Zabini was watching him carefully, and the glint of intelligence in his eyes made Neville wonder if maybe the rumour mill wasn't that far off after all.

"I want to propose a deal," Zabini replied.

The irritating though that maybe, just maybe, Ron might have been right for once crossed his mind. He swallowed uncomfortably.

"What kind of deal?" he asked.

Zabini gave a soft sigh and hopped up onto one of the old desks still scattered around the room. For the first time, Neville noticed just how uncomfortable the other boy looked. Like he wasn't sure if Neville was going to start hexing him or not – it was reassuring, in a way, because the same thing had occurred to Neville.

"I'm failing Herbology," Zabini announced. "According to Sprout and my wilting flutterby bush, I'm less nurturing than a desert. You're the best Herbology student in the school, Longbottom. It was either ask you for help or wait for divine intervention, and since I'm not an idiot…" He trailed off and waved a hand between them.

"Oh," Neville said. He hadn't been sure what he was expecting from this conversation, but that definitely hadn't been it. He couldn't quite bring himself to focus on the important part yet – that 'genius' Blaise Zabini needed _his_ help to pass – because he was too surprised by it. Instead, he chose to linger on the inanity in the hopes of warding reality off for a bit longer.

"How do you kill a flutterby?" They were notoriously hardy despite their delicate appearance. Killing one without specialised herbicide or the killing curse was practically unheard of.

Zabini just shrugged and shook his head. "It's leaves fell off and it looks like it melted."

There were no words for that. How on _earth_ did you melt a _plant_?

"Look," Zabini said, suddenly frustrated. "I have to pass. I'm not asking you to get me an O. I've already given up on the idea of a miracle happening. At this point an A would be incredible. I would…owe you."

Neville wasn't thick enough not to believe that saying that hadn't been as hard for Zabini as it was for him to hear. Bloody hell. Curiosity led to favours from Slytherins, apparently. It was something of a novelty, but it did explain why Zabini looked so painfully awkward. Neville couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

"I don't need anything from you," he said. "But, uh, okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll tutor you. And I'll try and think of something you can do for me in return, if you really feel like you have to." His mind was already whirring. Zabini was supposed to be some sort of Potions whizz-kid. Maybe he could tutor Neville in that in return? Heaven knew he needed all the help he could get before the OWLs came around.

Zabini gave him an odd look. "How nice it must be to live in a world where things are done for free."

Neville wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Zabini had clearly missed out on being taught the phrase 'thank you'.

"You're welcome," he said. It came out sharper than he'd intended it to.

Zabini smiled at him. It didn't reach his eyes. He was still too busy looking at Neville like he was a bug under a microscope for it to be genuine. Neville shifted awkwardly. He wasn't used to being studied by people – people other than Snape, who looked at everyone like that – for extended periods of time.

"Can I go now?" he asked, and felt like an idiot when Zabini's eyebrow raised.

"I'm not keeping you here," he replied. "But do meet me at the greenhouses tonight. You can show me where I've gone wrong."

Neville grimaced, but nodded. He left before he could think of anything else stupid to say.

Out in the corridor, he took a moment to lean against the wall and take a few deep breaths. He didn't have time for this. He really didn't. He had a Horcrux to find. Tutoring someone – let alone a Slytherin he was now just a little creeped out by – was the last thing he needed.

But.

But Zabini was a Slytherin. His mother was a serial killer.

He would know about the Dark Arts.

He would owe Neville a favour.

He'd thought briefly about having Zabini tutor him in Potions in exchange for his Herbology expertise, but what if he asked for the Dark Arts instead? Enough to be able to track down something like a Horcrux – there had to be a spell that could search out a Dark artefact. How else would people keep finding them?

He felt a grin spread over his face. He could do this.

…

He couldn't do it.

He looked at the…thing in a pot that – according to Zabini – had once been a flutterby and understood why, on her way out of the greenhouse, Professor Sprout had given him such a pitying look.

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "How?" he asked. "No, really. How?" He looked over at Zabini and waved a hand at…at…it. "Look at it! _How_?"

The tiny part of his brain that's not focussed on the complete disaster he'd been presented with was paralysed with fear under the look Zabini gave him. His eyes were a remarkably similar colour to Snape's and that – combined with the raised eyebrow Neville swore all Slytherins got classes in – made chills run down his spine. He'd perched himself on the potting bench as soon as they'd entered and watched Neville as he descended into a flailing wreck with the eerie sort of calm that was usually associated with predators.

"_That's not supposed to be possible!_"

"Calm down, Longbottom, I'm not asking you to fix it," Zabini drawled. "I'm asking you to help me get the new one to live until the end of the year."

Neville's head swam. He joined Zabini on the potting bench before he fell over. He'd never thought to associate Herbology with a prison sentence before.

"What did you do to it?" he asked, forcing himself to sound calm.

"No idea."

One of the flutterby's few remaining leaves fell. They were still green – the plant wasn't dried out and he'd checked the soil only to find that it hadn't been watered too much either.

"You really don't know?" He glanced at Zabini from the corner of his eye. The other boy was shaking his head and looking utterly miserable. It was a surprising – and pleasant – change from his earlier blankness. It made him look like a normal person.

"No."

"Okay," Neville muttered. He took a deep breath. "Have you been given the new seedling yet?"

"Sprout's trying to find me one. Apparently it's a little late in the season for them."

Neville hummed in agreement. Zabini's new project would have to be imported from Europe. It was far too cold in Scotland now to plant a flutterby seed and expect it to just grow. They liked the warmth. That would give him a couple of weeks – at least – to take Zabini right back to the beginning. He'd have to relearn composts and soil acidity and potting techniques – first year stuff, really.

He could now see why Zabini had insisted on owing him for this.

If he spent his free-time doing this, and learning about the Dark Arts from Zabini in return, he would have no time to go Horcrux-hunting. But he couldn't hunt for something he didn't know how to identify. So giving Zabini a few months of his time, in order to learn how to identify a Horcrux, would actually make his hunt shorter despite meaning it would be put off for a little while longer.

He'd have to tell Harry.

"How much free time do you have?" he asked. Another leaf trembled briefly before giving up, falling to join the others in a sad, green pool on the table.

"As much as you need me to."

"Lots, then." Neville tore his gaze away from the ruined plant. "Good. We're going to need it."

…

_Harry,_

_Hope things are going well for you. _

_Things here are very different this year. The new Defence teacher is a woman from the Ministry. She's almost as good at teaching as Lockhart._

_Classes are hard. I'm going to fail Potions, but no surprise there? I've been persuaded to tutor one of the Slytherin boys – Blaise Zabini, you remember him? – in Herbology in return for one ambiguous favour. I'm thinking of getting him to teach me some spells. I was thinking special tracking charms to help look for that thing you lost. (Your description of it was awful, by the way. I have no idea what it looks like.)_

_Granger was asking after you on the train. Did I mention that? She's watching me write this too, so I'd better go before it looks like I'm being too interesting._

_I'll write again soon._

_Neville_


End file.
